Just Me and the Ledge

July fourth. I did not have a plan. That is the honest version of how I ended up on a rooftop at nine in the evening with a can of sparkling water and a view I would have missed if I'd stayed on the couch.

Somewhere between the last climb session and the framing shop I noticed on the walk home last week, summer started feeling like it belonged to me in a quieter way than it used to. I didn't coordinate. I didn't wait to see if a plan would materialize. I just looked up which buildings in the neighborhood were doing rooftop access for the holiday and went. I wore the white sundress. I brought the sparkling water. I found a spot on the ledge and I stayed for the whole show.

There was a man who offered to take a photo. He had a very large camera bag and seemed almost relieved to have something to do with his hands. I said yes. The photograph he took is the one where I am not looking at anything in particular, which is my favorite kind of photograph to have of myself, the kind that arrived before I'd decided what my face was doing.

The fireworks were fine. The sky before the fireworks was better. There is something about the city going quiet for that half hour of waiting that I keep coming back to, everyone just holding still together, looking up, not checking anything. I took one detail frame of my necklace against the string lights, mostly because the light was doing something I didn't want to forget. The cord is still tucked in the sketchbook. The framing shop window is still on my phone. Some things wait. Tonight it was enough to just watch.