higher ground: only god can make a tree, pt. I

Late Saturday nights are the best time to come up to the rooftop to chill.

It's that time when everything just seems to stand still. The neighborhood is more silent. The road traffic is sparser. There are a fewer people out on the street. No blaring car horns. No frantic sounds made by small children playing. No busy drilling or hammering sounds coming from the on-going construction. The closest that can register as noise will only come from the cold and crisp wind blowing from the east, the low buzzing of one sad incandescent light bulb, or the sweet music bleeding out from my horrible, horrible earphones. Other than that, it's totally serene. Or, it's as serene as this little busy town can get.

It's the time that's most definitely conducive to thinking, and writing. Although I rarely get any writing done because I often end up drifting elsewhere, pondering over things that are seemingly unimportant and totally unrelated to what I initially planned to expound on.

Like how I'm thinking about trees right now. Or rather, the lack of it. From this spot, I can barely see anything green save for those roofs painted with that shade. Indeed, most are. Compensating? Probably. Though I highly doubt that those sheet metals can photosynthesize.

Or stand for anything worth recalling.

TO BE CONTINUED.