From my roof, I can make out the handle of the big dipper. And if I look hard enough through the light pollution of this city I can make the whole thing out. The sky is changing; the traffic streets over is calm, fall is here. There is something captivating alone on a roof, floors up from the movement on the pavement below. The traffic almost sounds like waves. Planes and motorcyles compound the patterns in such a complex way that the sounds merge. The calmness within the chaos is soothing. Needed. Embraced.