Tree

An incandescent bulb flickered to life on the edge of the balcony with a faint hum. It illuminated an oak tree, wreathed in shadows, that seemed to ward away the night. I stood still, very still, gazing up at the light, which twitched and danced and flickered, reminiscent of a flame. And I basked in its light, a bright orb separate from all the happenings of the world. For a moment I was in another place, and all that mattered was me, the light, and the tree which stood by silently and caring in the way parents stand by their children, a quiet reassurance that needs no words. I traced the wrinkles of the bark in my palm and pressed my face against the moss as if it were a blanket. I could have spent an eternity there, in that moment, alone yet not lonely, a frozen frame in time. And then the illusion shattered. Somewhere above my head a woman sighed, shuffled her feet, and the lightbulb flickered off. The cloaks of darkness fell all around me, and I moved on down the street, my dream-world already forgotten.