You are high up, very high up, a cool bright void stretching misty views in all directions, vague shapes in far distances shifting slowly in and out of sight like seen from the belly of a cloud. A humid and feeble wind blows through the rusty ironworks enclosing the twisting walkway, like an elongated cage open in two directions, finely wrought ornamental details in certain places, sturdy simple industrial steel in others, many different layers of pastel paint flaking in the moist air, the rust wet beneath your fingers, an eternity of a distance seen bellow the gridwork underneath your feet, you are very, very high up. Frogs, large snails, kittens, birds and other small animals perch in the corners - if there are any - huddled up next to posts and more denser areas of ornamental iron, hiding from the wind, their skin, fur or slime all in mother-of-pearl, all the same shimmering non-colour - all shades in one but at the same time none, reflecting weak and invisible rainbows. Small black eyes follow you, quick breathing sending tiny bodies vibrating, not necessarily out of fear - just a mode of awareness very different from yours, every step you take trembles the walkway lightly and they huddle closer to each other, you walk carefully to not disturb them more than necessary, keeping your own breath slow, tasting the wet air.
You arrive at a spiral staircase, also this one in partly wrought and partly industrial iron, same flaking paint layers retelling uninteresting stories of previous stylistic preferences, its steps disappearing in the distance both above you, and below you. On the railing at the entrance to the staircase sits a large python, wrangled through the iron bars, its scales like pearls, shifting white rose and sky-blue in an instant, big deep-blue eyes observing you with calm, free of judgement. As you start down the staircase the large snake opens its mouth, revealing no teeth and a thin pink tongue, and says something in a soothing foreign language, you start to ask questions but its attention is already directed elsewhere, out in the distance. A couple of mother-of-pearl crows lands next to it, looking at you, then turning and speaking the same foreign language to the python, a single beam of sun breaks through the fogs to turn their feathers shimmering in colours much too many and much to complex for the human eye to perceive in full. You love them.