Despite the Valentine of a post that I wrote to my bedroom a few days ago, I will be the first to admit it has flaws: It’s small; the wall is water damaged; it comes complete with a layer of grime that dates back to Roosevelt administration and cannot be scrubbed away by the best of Mrs. Meyer’s line of cleaning goods; and there are holes (the mosquitos may call them doors) in my window screens. But I overlook these minor inconveniences because of my window. My oh so glorious window.

Really. Does it get better than a good window? A third floor window with a wide sill made for plants. And my view. I love my view.

DC rooftops are fantastic. You’ll see the occasional patio and garden or the Victorian spires. Looking out across it all, you see history and beauty and blue sky. You also see my mulberry tree.

I probably shouldn’t call it my mulberry tree as it undoubtedly belongs to the colony of birds that have settled in it. In a city where real estate doesn’t come cheap, these birds have staked their claim in this tree and invited all their closest friends to move in. It is an avarian condominium. And I adore it. They might be the best neighbors I’ve ever had–always a beautiful song to make the morning a little less painful, always a lovely sight to pull me away from a mundane paper.

Looking out over the city or glimpsing my “neighbors” makes the rest of the house and my room fall away. I feel tucked up safely in my own little tree house, away from the rest of the world, away from reality.