Last night I climbed out onto the roof outside my bedroom window as I almost always do just before sunset late in the summer. I’m holding onto something. I realize this.
School will start in a couple of weeks. I’m seventeen. I have to go back one more time. I wanted to see the clouds and wonder at the way they catch the last of the light as the sun slides over the curve of the earth. Last night they were soft and feathery, but some evenings they’re solid mountains, glowing with the color of the inside of a barely-ripe peach. I love to watch the jets glinting along their soaring courses to somewhere…I don’t know where they’re going. They always pass high over Dreamscape. They don’t know this town exists.
Few do. Dreamscape hangs suspended in a misty netherworld between now and the future, between hope and whatever comes next. Few stay here as long as I have. But it’s such a beautiful place. Especially in the evenings in late summer when the last dreams of the season are beginning to fade again.
The feeling sets in. It didn’t happen this year. Next year, maybe.
Maybe next year.