The soles of my feet scratched against the rough shingles. My sister sat next to me, beside herself that I agreed to sit on the roof with her.
It was one of those strange days. The middle of February and the sky must have thought it was May. There was a wind…strong and familiar. An old friend. Softly slinking over my shoulders; it was like a hug, an embrace, an all encompassing love. It must have felt the bricks hiding under my skin because it began to blow harder, wafting the weight away. My body swayed with it, leaning into it, and it held me. It was unafraid of my weight and took me for what I was, and took away what I was not.
My sister missed my loving exchange. She sat next to me staring at the moon rising over naked trees. She waved good bye as it faded behind gray clouds.
I wanted to tell her a story. I wanted to share the air with her. I wanted us to be those sisters in white cotton dresses that run through fields together. I wanted us to share dirty feet and even dirtier secrets. But we didn't really speak. Not much. And the silence settled, comfortably.
It was a reunion. The harvest moon, the wind, the silence, my sister and I; all sitting and swaying and fading in and out together. On the roof. In the middle of February. On a day that felt like the middle of May.