My childhood home was a green Victorian wood frame three flat that had lots of crevices for exploration. One of my favorite places therein was the attic.
It was unfinished. Dark, gray, dusty with relics littering the rafters. But in the front was a small room. My uncle Paul, who was only six years older than me, had built a place where he could escape. I would escape there too. (I’m can’t recall if he sanctioned my escape…)
This room was light with unpainted plaster walls. The whiteness designated a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded it. This room had one window just under the pitched roof peak. The window was only inches from the floor. When I you stood up in front of it, I filled the whole thing with my body. It instilled such fear in me. I would tremble as I looked in wonder at the beautiful perspective that lain before me, unlike what I saw or felt in any other window below.
I looked down on the maple tree that prevented growth beneath it, and the awning that sheltered those entrants and exitists from the rains and snows. I was mightier than they in that moment.
The world felt miles away.
I also knew the danger.
With the window open, head stuck out, I imagined the wind sucking me out as I plunged to the ground. Would the awning shelter and save me as it provided protection from the elements? Would I be able to grasp a branch of the maple canopy to pull me to safety?
I didn’t know.
I didn’t care. My fears didn’t keep me from perching at the glass. The reward was worth the risk. I approach life in a similar manner.
See it all: the beauty, the danger. They are partners. The view from the top is surreal and the possibility of fall very real. This is life. This is my perspective.
What is your perspective? How do you view from the top?
Spilling Marbles 