Escaping through a City Window

by Ryan Richard Nych

Man writes in journal during lunch breakI barely realize I’m writing in my notebook while on my lunch break at work. I’ve been staring through the gap in the blinds and scribbling for twenty minutes rather than eating my lunch. This was scrawled across the page in my journal …

I want to run, drive, fly, ride, or swim. I want to leave. I want to leave.

Take me away to distant places where concrete, brick, glass, metal does not conquer. Take me to running waters. To meadows and hills. Take me to wooded mountains. Take me from here, the city. Take me to where birdsong replaces noise, to where there are soft grasses and tender breezes. Take me from machine and toward rock. Bring me to marshes and lakes, and allow me to idly watch blue sky and lazy clouds. Let me enjoy the waters.

I want to connect by disconnecting.

A savior in this sliver of window between blinds. The bare arms of the large oak tree sway in the assault of early spring winds. Those winds are a certain reminder that winter precedes-to never take warmth for granted. The Northern Pennsylvanian sky, however, wants to rid the mind and heart of nightmares of winter. It flirts with memories of summer. The bright blue wears lingerie of billowing clouds, tri-toned white, silver and grey. They, too, only joke with me, guided by wind. They allow only for me to dream of freedom as I gaze upon their playful enormity. I should be with them. Roaming. Exploring.

They remind me of buffalo grazing an endless blue prairie. Open range and wild. But from here, I see fences. Not for my airy bison, but for me and my soul. I gaze from a cold window. Lifeless. I see the power lines from my position, my own electric fence. For now, I know I cannot join them.

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