R O O F

is where I stayed, all fine day.

Digging away at a year's worth of disorientated stray pine needles and moss. Got myself a small sun tan all the way up there, saw it as a chance to whip out the wobbly bobbly bums N tums N all what with the sky keeping the form of a perfect blue all the way through. I remember fondly back to when I was first allowed up on this here roof to scrape away at the rubble, thinking to myself at the time "I'm part of the team now", and every year it turns into more of a ritual, with the composed systematic approach at trying to keep the tiles from leaking in the heavy snow falls of the winter.

And every day, when the tools go down, I marvel in taking that sweet ride out to get some fast blood running through my veins. Whooshing past endless summer fields full of flowers and cows and combine harvesters with moist eyes and wailing vocal chords trying to keep up with the sparkling sounds filling my ears.

And I can't imagine anything more beautiful.