Cold enough to warrant a light jacket,

The chill settles against my skin comfortably,

The smell of rain is constant,

I can’t tell if the sun is rising or setting,

But still, the sky whispers in pastel colours,

Sitting on the roof of a small shed,

Leaning back,

hands behind me keeping me up,

Legs dangle above the grassy field that stretches out to the trees,

It’s quiet,

I’m alone

My mind cannot talk here,

Crickets, birds, cars passing by,

The sky does not call to me here,

There is no need to escape from this place,

I feel small and insignificant,

And my problems hold no value here,

Nothing changes,

Nothing leaves,

Everything is constant.