12/24

And I'm taken back to my parent's house.  To the porch out back on a summer night when the authority figures had left for a Friday or Saturday evening and left the lookin-afters of the place to me.  Left responsibility where it was not right.

But, oh, what a time.

There was a large wooden table with dilapidated wooden stools circled around it.  Some ill fitted lawn and beach chairs had been unfolded from their place against the aluminum siding of the house to support friends and random party goers.

And we were all drinking.  The summer nights were soaked in alcohol.  This was no different.  Music vibrated from a speaker.  A bottle was passed around.  The fridge door opened and closed with beers going in and out.  Wine aplenty.

And on one of these drunken summer  nights a figure spoke.  A pale figure with dark hair and sharp eyes that recorded everything in nonchalance.  Like that of a cat.  And what did she say?

Let's get on the roof.

She said, let's get on the roof.

And we all did.  A ladder was retrieved from the garage and bodies went up.  And though a body was dropped through a decayed potted plant upon decent, bodies went up.

And whiskey was drank and stars were gazed upon and drunken fantasies bloomed and withered within an hour's worth of time, but we all experienced consciousness from the roof top of a suburban household for one night.  We did it.  And though it may have seemed as though nothing came of those moments, they were just the seeds of so many lives to bloom and whither in time.  So many pathways to converge and separate and come together again later.  Or grow farther and farther away.

But seeds were planted and they are still sprouting.  Life continues on.