I woke up this morning and found I couldn’t go back to sleep. Typically I have trouble sleeping at night but am a champion morning sleeper. My head was full of car shopping, Meredith’s impending visit, everything I should be accomplishing and songs I listened to yesterday. I didn’t have that cozy snuggle up in bed feeling, so I got up.
The sky is light gray with patches of blue trying to come through. Everything is damp. It must have rained in the early morning hours. I won’t have to water my flowers today. We’ve been enjoying a lovely coolness this week since the heat wave finally broke.
Yesterday evening the weather drew me out on a bike ride. Twilight is best this time of year. The day slowly retreats and the night slips out to take her place. For a while, it is neither light nor dark. Noises are half-muted, as if underwater. Pinpricks of sound become clear – the first chirps of crickets, the evening song of robins. People go in; fireflies come out. Houses lose detail as they recede into growing darkness. Instead of noticing the architecture, I see the lights through windows. Out here on the dark street, everyone seems the same. But each person in this neighborhood is experiencing a different moment at the same moment. I see the world only one way. Layers upon layers of perspective and impression filter through my brain. Everything I observe is interpreted by who I am before I have a chance to see it for what it is. If I didn’t believe in God, I might doubt the existence of verifiable truth.
The way the air feels is uniquely Midwestern. I can’t decide whether to break a sweat or wish for a light jacket. The air is cool and so surprising after the heat. But the humidity still hugs me like a damp blanket. To me, the evening is peaceful and perfect for introspection as I weave up and down each street. I wish I could wander farther and farther into the night. But my mom’s voice warns me I’ll get hit by a car biking on the road in the dark. But I’ve turned on my little lights, I think. Still. I consider what it might feel like to be smacked by a car, and I ponder how many people’s day would be ruined by the event. So I go home.
And here I am, alive to see another Wednesday morning. I feel adrift in time. I wonder, when I look back on these days, what will be the anchoring moments that define my memories?
My husband is awake. Back to car shopping and the things I should be getting done.