From my Lincoln Heights bedroom, what is "the first star I see tonight"? Hint: it's the color of burning sodium. Yes, the standard ghastly American street light. Such an unfortunate staple in city life, that I confess I never noticed it. Until...it blinked off. A peace came over me that could only mean that it been a constant (albeit unnoticed) source of stress.
Each night now, it blinks on for three or four minutes, and then off for three or four, and then on again. Stress. Peace. Stress. Peace.
My own personal midnight sun.
Last night the now familiar pattern changed from orange/off/orange to orange/white/off/orange. Making my streetlight more and more star-like. An old, old planet burning toward eventual destruction.
It's said that it is always darkest before the dawn, but for me, it is always brightest before the dark.
I have a street light in front of my house, but I have a different relationship with my light. It doesn't really shine into my window, so that's not a problem. However, it does illuminate the curb right outside my house. It's like my own personal light that let's me see my keys as I go out to my car, etc. I like my light. I only wish it was more stylish or something, maybe an old fashioned metal pole with a victorian style light. Instead, it's one of those modern arching lights on top of a cement pole with little bits of faux rocks embedded within at perfectly spaced intervals. I climbed the same pole when I was younger, which just so happened to be right in front of my parents' house (it served as my personal light for our front garage basketball hoop). I climbed all the way to the top one time. It felt so odd because people would climb trees but no one would ever climb light poles. When I finally slithered down, I was covered with a white cement-like powder. Maybe that's why.
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