acrophobic on an 11th floor balcony

Acrophobia, for you sane, well-adjusted types, is a fear of heights. A deep, abiding, knee-knocking, mortal aversion to altitudes above sea level. So what could possess me to scamper out onto my balcony, 110 feet straight up (assuming a mean height of ten feet per floor)?

Just one thing I can think of: a soft, warm summer night. There is nothing sweeter in this lifetime — and quite possibly the next. I stood there, still as a statue, in a breeze as lovely as a caress. It was almost a religious experience, being so close to heaven and the angels and all. The lights of the city twinkled below, the stars glittered above, and moonlight dappled the world. Calamity didn’t exist, fear didn’t loom; I wanted for nothing. It was a rare moment of unexpected bliss.

And I tumbled tail over teakettle into perfect contentment; a cocoon of happy.

Life can be a grim, hard slog sometimes — it involves a lot of wandering in the dark, a lot of wrong turns and steep plunges and dark tunnels — but, oh, my, look where we are. We’re in a world of snapdragons and honeysuckle and starlit evenings, loveliness is all around us. Summer is here, boys and girls, right outside the door.

Now, although I’m not sure what the maximum seating capacity is on my little balcony, the bolts look plenty secure. There’s room for you, too.

copyright © 2017 little ittys

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