Sitting on the balcony, you stare into the distance, over the rooftops behind your apartment and into the sky, which is turning pink as the sun sets, and you watch the planes go by. One by one they pass, going higher and higher, off to their destinations. You wish each of them a safe flight. You wonder where they’re going, and you wonder if it’s better than where you are now.
It’s warm. Warmer than it has been in a long time, and you relax in the metal chair you’re sitting in, comfortable because of the cushion you brought out, comfortable because it’s not cold. Your gaze falls from the sky to the plant on the table in front of you, and you talk to it, low, soft tones. Maybe you sing to it too, don’t plants like music?
A helicopter passes overhead and you look up, squinting to see if it has wheels or if it doesn’t, but you can’t tell. You wish it a safe flight as well, and go back to staring beyond the rooftops into the pink horizon. It’s calm. You’re calm. You let the moment last as long as you can.