Sunday, May 15, 2005
Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation
...and the one night I slept here is no exception.
Friday night I didn't sleep particularly well, but I felt relaxed (despite my cramped position on the love seat -- I'm just too tall for it). Light spilled in through the windows in the living room and I didn't need a light to see to go to the bathroom (every hour on the hour). I saw the faint dark outline of the mountains in the distance and the sharp sparkle of the stars in the sky. I had been worried I wouldn't see the stars so clearly since I moved to the city, but here on the west side of town there are no bright street lights or excessive light pollution.
I just noticed there is one street light on the corner glowing orange and lighting up the street below. The bushes and trees are dark silhouettes retreating from the light and into the shadows. The light from my computers makes everything look a little darker outside, but the computer lights are familiar.
Squares of light from the houses up and down the street glow softly in the darkness between the leafing branches of the trees and in the distance coming closer the sound of teenagers on their way home from the park or from friends' houses drift up through the windows. The front door downstairs is locked and bolted, but my apartment door is not locked. There is such a sense of safety and peace here, a feeling of welcome. I guess George has decided I'm all right after all because I sensed his presence when I moved in and I feel it now just out of range, going about his ghostly business without need to watch me or worry about me treading on his ghostly toes.
Isolation is behind me and a new vista is before me. I am content. I could use some furniture -- and certainly a bed -- but I can make do with what I have. I don't need a lot and I have most of what I need.
Living in isolation sharpened my senses but I don't feel overwhelmed or stressed by the added sensations or the closeness of other people. Darkness softens the glaring light of day and wraps around me like a warm blanket on a cold night. The dense black of darkness at the cabin, that palpable presence, is gone, but in its place is the heartbeat of humanity and life. Squirrels chase each other through the trees and up and down the streets, sticking quivering noses into everything, eternally curious and avidly watching the new kid on the block. Dogs sniff and stiffen in challenge at other dogs trespassing, but it is an almost friendly challenge. Humans, with their hands wrapped in plastic bags, follow their dogs scooping up poop (you'll never catch a dog scooping human poop) and briskly pacing up and down the streets to the parks that ring this little neighborhood. The siren call of Old Colorado City and its eclectic and artistic shops and streets will not be denied for long.
Tomorrow I begin working on my high speed line and hopefully making up for lost time. I have a new schedule to figure out and fit into and the possibility of lunches out at the park and with friends -- picnics in the sunshine and even in the rain with lightning and thunder for fireworks in the middle of the day. So much to do and see and enjoy and I won't let the grass grow under my feet for long.
Most of all I look forward to spending time with a very close friend who can't stop smiling whenever we talk or when they're here. The smile is such an unconscious and open expression of happy contentment that it will be hard to keep from smiling back and reminding them that I am here to stay no matter what else happens. We have shared so much and now we share proximity; that should make many things easier. Neither of us is ever going to be alone without companionship again. We may not have a lot, but we have friendship.
I'll shut up now. Time to get some rest before I begin the new work day.