July 5, 2016

Tuesday, 11:26pm

Having to awaken in the wee hours of the morning when the malignant skies ooze an eerie calmness holds a vast difference then when, let us say, I am anguished by persistent thoughts into the dead of night. How can changing a simple action completely alter the ambiance that plagues us during the day? When the sun reflects along the streaming river within the Trump course, it seems as if this torpid neighborhood has been untouched since the beginning of man. There is a monotonous undercurrent that has remained morbidly stagnant for the thirteen years that I have walked these pavements and yet, when night bestows upon us, the Cimmerian shade, ironically, ruptures upon the neutrality of the buildings like hyper pigmented technicolored cartridges.  The trees, which may appear languid, limp, and incredulous of their universal status during the day, reanimate like corpses reaching spiritual fruition. Many others may not hold the same perspective as I but when I amble up our neighborhood hilltop, the late morning hour impregnates me with serene tranquility. A burgeoning nothingness wanders amidst the querulous wind and inconspicuously redefines solitude as I reach the hilltop. “Tomorrow,” I sigh, “I shall do this once again.”


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