The Night Beckons Me

As the August sun relentlessly heated the front of my apartment and the metal door that fronts it, I walked across the parking lot to the dumpster. The remnants of the chicken I’d baked wouldn’t fare well until tomorrow. It’s nice having a dumpster that I don’t need to roll out to the curb. On the other hand, I find myself cleaning up after the other residents and the trash company that does the trash maintenance.

I watched the traffic on Gregg Avenue and across the railroad tracks on the opposite side of the street. I should be tired. When I woke up last night, thinking it was morning, it was only 11:11. By rough calculation, I would guess I’ve walked twenty miles since then. Though I can’t explain why, knowing that the Greenway trail was only a couple of minutes away made me want to put on shoes and walk a dozen miles again.

Covid and my personal life have aligned to make my previous concerns a little bit less than significant. Everywhere, everything is changing.

The sunset, though? And the wall of music that the insects provide; they are a cacophony of sameness. Beauty, too.

I won’t answer the call of the wanderer tonight, though the sidewalks and trail whisper my name.

I’ll lie in bed and listen, if need be, to the day swiftly approaching. I’ll rise to meet it, whether sleep embraces me or not.

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