This girl sleeps on protected rooftop, under awnings and brightly colored fabrics. Her light flicks off at the first sign of dawn, to bring morning light into her space. The others who sleep on the rooftop do not rise so early, and rarely see her leave. They are her friends, most ways. But perhaps not yet allies.
When she leaves her rooftop she’s wrapped in dance of fabrics and spaces. To keep out the sun, to carry goods and possessions, to allow her breeze. She slips over the edge of the rooftop, to the balconies connected with leafy trellis and precarious ladder stairs.
She doesn’t pay them any mind, this is the part of the city she grew up in, and this climbing is faster, quieter, and much more fun than tiptoeing down the inside stairs. Her footing is sure, and when her fabric wrapped feet touch down in the soft earthy garden below, she wiggles her exposed toes into the rich ground.
Her appreciation only takes a moment before she’s off, light on her feet, and quick. To the market, the streams, or the build sites, to make her day’s earnings. This part of the city is hers, undoubtedly, and always has been. She rarely ventures into other areas, she finds no needs there.
Though, this girl, has forgotten she once knew of other places. She lives happy and free. The wind tumbles her hair around her face and she laughs.