The Mantle

Deep night air swirled visibly in departing tendrils of fog as I ghosted along the rooftops. Each footfall was light, as soft as a bird landing, and only the moon could see the smile that twisted my face as I ran. Muted bells chimed the midnight hour from a church to the east. I breathed in rhythm, filling my lungs with brick and mud-scented damp and the sweet air of the night sky above the city. What few golden lights flickered below only accentuated the stars above in their numerous beauty. This space was my wonderland. Columns of chimney smoke held the sky above my head. Higher and higher I climbed, seeking only the next turn, handhold, hoist and leap. The Mantle flapped about my face and body, lending speed and strength in a sharp motion against my skin. Every motion a joy, I peaked upon the bell tower itself, now silent as I swung a wide arc with one arm upon the steeple point, head back, wind buffeting my closed eyes. Crouching, I jumped and felt that pure instant of flight as I embraced my freedom.