I went to a party on Friday. It was a good time but most delicious was the back yard. Near the end I left the scene to go out there.
The grass was long and lush and cool to the touch.
At the back of the garden, under a big tree, sat large rocks. I took residence on one.
The glow from neighbouring lights were hazy, the air was crisp and clean.
And later, later, I rolled upon that lush grass, under the stars.
It reminded me of times long ago.
It reminded me of every party I had gone to.
Every party I had left.
I remember climbing out of windows at friend's places while everyone danced or watched movies in the lounge.
Streets I didn't know, will never know.
They all ended up at a field.
Never the same field.
But there was always a field to be had.
When you are young it is much more frightening to lay in the grass in the dark.
But the freedom and the night and the....escape...will always be just as beautiful.
What makes the difference from when you have to climb out a window to when you can walk out a door, I wonder?
Is it just age?
That would suggest a bigger freedom as you grow older.
Which, perhaps, may be true.
But the freedom is still not big enough to keep me inside.
Each person is still the same prison window I must slip through.
It's interesting, no?
To remember who you are?
I think I forget in the haze of it all.
Until there is a party.
And I see those windows.
And I go climbing again.