There’s a Car in My Bedroom

Or is there?
Hard to say at 2:00 or 3:00 or 4:00.
Or even 5:00–
but maybe less so.
Sounds carry farther,
seem clearer… their makers
are cleverer.
They bounce, bob, weave and hide
in mischievous ways that my brain,
newly awake from a deep sleep,
cannot follow,
cannot pinpoint,
or make sense of
(and, clearly, grammar rules go out the window to join them).
Trains run where tracks don’t,
and trucks speed by on highways that don’t run diagonally across the city.
And, disembodied voices float along electrical wires.
Less dangerous that way.
Without a body to attract the current.
Thank goodness. Imagine awakening to that.
Trying to make sense of the who, what, where, when –
and if! –
would be too much for my sleep-sluggish mind.
Too much urgency.
Instead of just taking in the story of the night.
Which, maybe, is not so much a story
as it is soundtrack,
or woven symphony.
That makes the foundation of a day.
One that goes unnoticed –
anonymous and unacknowledged –
during the course of a city day.
A day in which many people and things are too immediate,
too visible,
too urgent in their insistence that we all pay attention, look at them,
or–if not–get out of their way.
Making me, at times, resent less waking at odd hours.
To have the chance to hear the sounds that will eventually come together to make the day.
To hear the harmonic chaos that will give way,
come daylight,
to city sounds that make sense –
have a context –
yet lack the rhythm and harmony that the darkness gives them.

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About deb

Wandering and wondering - taking it all in -- and increasingly shaking my head. Who are we and how did we get to this here? And, what, where and how next? Putting what I see and think out there in pictures and always looking for other ways, hence, this blog. This blog, like me, is a work in process and still doesn't quite know what it wants to be when it grows up.
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