What we see when we walk at night

I am obsessed with orange streetlamps. I love their colour and what they do to the landscape at night. I remember them most vividly, lighting a million 2 a.m. bike rides, a million 4 a.m. walks. I don't ever remember seeing them come on...I guess I wasn't that observant. It was as if they appeared suddenly the minute the sky turned bruise purple, glowing in that silken, all-embracing way that made you think of cream or baths or mosquitoe nets.

I'm trying to make an inventory of how my history has shaped my character so far. If it is even possible to be methodical about this kind of endeavour, then I think the orange streetlamps are a good place to start. I can't remember my birth and so much of my childhood is such a jumble. I kind of marvel when people recall their histories with such detail...which TV shows they used to watch as kids, their sixth birthday party, their fifth-grade science project. I mean, I have those things, but I don't really remember them...it's like all the meaningful events have been squeezed to more recent history, like squishing the toothpaste to the top of the tube. It could be that I was just an unusually unaware child, but I don't think sp. I like to think that melancholy people are generally more observant or, at least, more self-aware, and I was a pretty melancholy kid. At least, I think I was. Again, jumble. All of it.

But the streetlamps. I see them again and again and I find that on the nights when I can't sleep, I am chasing them, wanting that peace back.


-I