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
They bounce, bob, weave and hide
in mischievous ways that my brain,
newly awake from a deep sleep,
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 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,
to city sounds that make sense –
have a context –
yet lack the rhythm and harmony that the darkness gives them.
Or is there?