It’s a little past three a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Today is my Saturday. I got home a short hour or so ago from work.
The streets of my city were quiet as I drove home, with only the occasional cop or taxi passing me in the night. This is now the world I inhabit, a bit haunting and different. Well, there is also that other one, where I am going into work in the a.m. on Saturdays while most people sleep. The yin to my weekday yang.
In that other world the running groups who loop bridges and downtown are the most prevailing signs of life I see. I love those groups. I remember running with them, looking at riders in early morning metro buses, wondering where they were heading. Irony? (With my current work schedule I will miss the opportunity running with them this winter.)
Lack. Missing. Those are the feelings that sometimes come over me as I sit in times and places where the rest of the world sleeps. The emotions are mixed, in a soupy fog of nostalgic longing, memory, and the peace and serenity of stillness that drifts in like wisps over a river during a morning sun rise.
I don’t know, when you know most of the rest of the world is sleeping everything just takes on a different texture, like dreams or films about ghosts. It is neither good nor bad. It just is.
Ah, I know I am being too melodramatic and philosophical at the moment. Some of is just need for sleep, because it is either very early, or very late, depending on your take and how close you are to waking up from your sleep as I write this.