Let’s just say I cut through a place I wasn’t supposed to be. The light rain and cool breeze felt amazing as I crept through the early morning. I had to keep reminding myself that it’s still summer. Goosebumps popped up along my arms several times. Mostly it was from the breeze and the light rain. A couple of times it was from the swirling shadows and silhouettes. I had to also remind myself that as far as I knew, I was alone in the dark, and unaccompanied in my exploration. It felt like a late October night night. 

The most beautiful moment happened when I took a street that I don’t normally traverse. The breeze blasted me, bringing the sound of insects and harmonious wind chimes. For some reason, I had to see the origin of the wind chimes. I was certain whoever owned them would have an oasis in the middle of and often overlooked apartment row. I was right. From the street, I could see that plants filled the stairs leading up. I could also see colored lights glowing from inside. 

As I precariously climbed in darkness. I took a literal leap of faith that I was as close to the ground as I was supposed to be. Walking back around required at least a couple of miles. I didn’t mind the extra miles, of course. I just wanted to see something different. 

When I came through the brush onto the trail, flashing lights filled the air. I held my phone up so that whoever I was approaching would know someone was coming out of the dark. 

Someone had the misfortune of being pulled over at the very end of the street where it abutts the wildness. As soon as I got past them, I saw a pair of eyes looking at me from inside the brush of Narnia. I changed the setting to video. I did not capture whatever little creature was watching me. But I did get a kaleidoscope, courtesy of the police. 

I scribbled in chalk my prediction for today’s game in a dozen places. 

I got back to the apartment a little wet and a little chilly. I wish that some days I didn’t have to sleep at all so that I could explore the imaginary world of the darkness.

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