i am living on the top floor of a four-storey building. when i return home through the fresh evening air, i climb stairs that slowly get narrower and narrower with each flight until i reach my door. it's just next to the door that takes you into the rundown attic and up onto the roof.
i dwell where the birds fly; i see their flight change path before joining me in my flat. i have two large views of the mountains surrounding the city and at night i hear the daily celebrators fixing their bodies after a day's work, intermingled with the beautifully deep bells ringing from gothic cathedrals. i sit on my balcony, drinking a cup of tea, or a glass of wine, or a peculiar mix of rhubarb, grape, and pickle. tonight, the old fortified hill was lit up with a saturday night party from the top of schlossberg. there once was a castle on this unnaturally high, raised hump in the middle of the city.
napoleon had it dismantled brick by brick as a symbolic gesture when he conquered that height; for him, knocking it over wasn't enough.
tonight the tower on that hill was lit up in multiple colours. i gazed at it for awhile, enjoying the breeze, the moment, the stillness, the knowledge that i'm in the right place. i stepped inside for a second, and when i returned, there were chimes ringing from the hill and the lights went off.
midnight. time for day to go out.