Memories of the Night

A friend of mine once sent me a children's story called "A Walk in the City." After seeing
people,
and fast,
and tall,
and up, up, up,
and it all,
our characters go home, to hike in the mountians.

This morning, scraping ice from the windshield of the silver bullet, i giggle with memories of the night. Colored lights on the dancefloor, rythmic movement and freedom from reality. Time is gone, along with the responsibilities that it demands. Only timing remains, and body and energy.

And in the morning, the alarm sounds, and it takes a few minutes to brown the french toast, and the car takes a few moments to warm up for the trip to work.

tick, tick, tick.
sun on shining white.
giggle.
memories of the night.