Still with me?

There was just enough moonlight to see the treetops through her window.
The night echoed with souls and angels trying their best to drift into meditation of surprise and wonder.
She pondered on all the window views she'd been privy to. Familys, student rentals, friends, shops, work, other businesses.
Most or all of them had some form of urban jungle.
But none I'm sure went unnoticed.
A means of escape, if just for a glance at a time.
She sensed that in her writing sometimes.
A window opening. Like a connection calling her. Willing her. Sometimes even in art which she had long since given up on.
But this night, through this window it was still, but for a firefly hovering on the horizon, drifting through the trees, propelling itself this way and that, humming her to sleep, a white factory rooftop and a giant sky. Nothing too busy, nothing too noisy at this time, nothing less than perfect for this still moment with souls and angels.