A hundred or so balloons tied to her waist and pockets of stones as ballast. She needed to escape; to release from her earthly confines and head for parts unknown, like that movie with the old man and the cub scout. She knew she needed out.
She stopped at the market everyday for a week and came home with twenty balloons at a time. When Saturday came, she was ready. Out of the chimney, she climbed, rubber air pockets secured. She stood near the brick protrusion and started to drop stones out of her pockets.
One by one the pebbles skittered down the asphalt. She didn’t feel any lighter. The right pocket was nearly empty. She started on the left for balance. Those stone ran out just as fast. And her rear pockets.
She kicked off her right shoe; then her left. She removed her arms from her blouse and shimmied it down to her ankles where she stepped out of it.
She was almost airborne. All she had remaining were her shorts (and unmentionables). Winifred swore she would stop before she had to resort to that.
She dropped her pants and lifted off of the roof. The wind had been stiff enough to carry her to the end of the roof and southward toward the park. She was on her way. She just never figured in the trees!