The top of the bed was level with the bottom of the window sill. Lying in bed on his back, head turned to the left, he could see out the window. He often did this until he drifted off to sleep. The blinds were always lowered, but not all the way, leaving a clear view at the bottom. The window itself was often cracked open a few inches. He liked staring through the crack at a treetop just outside the window. In the summer the treetop was a leafy mass of green, swaying back and forth in the wind, coppery from the streetlights.  Yet still brilliantly green. There were outside noises: cars going past, muted footfalls on the sidewalk, a rush of wind through the trees. It was very peaceful. Calming. As he became sleepy he imagined himself floating through the cracked-open window and hovering parallel to the treetop. The cool sheets bundled on top of him slowly dissolving, warmth pooling in his limbs. Leaving his body behind, safely tucked in bed.