I'm in a highrise bell jar. Life, muffled and small, persistently chirps at the window. How do I measure life when it comes in clicks and buzzes?
Does nature really know what I think? Does she hear me supposing from up here in the canopy? Or do I just seek to hear her? Seek her breath on the back of my neck, reassuring me that the world is close by, constantly celebrating my existence?
It would be different if everything beautiful that pressed up against the atmosphere, trying to breathe... felt the Universe's approval in return, pushing them back - allowing them to be. There's a point on the downswing of a rollercoaster where you feel a drastic change, gravity moves through you completely, from top to bottom. There, in that movement, you are moving away from something that is bigger than you - the force of the entire planet. And we have to go to an amusement park to feel it, when a skyscraper speaks every day, every minute... a little tiny version of this movement away from gravity. Up, sharply, away.