The Darkest Part Of Every Night Is Just Before The Dawn

It was the first morning I had to wear leggings and gloves this fall, and my fingers felt numb as I tied my laces in the frigid dark. Running down 7th, I could hardly see any signs of life, other than the one outside the library that announced in flashing neon orange: Toddler Tales Cancelled For October. The ground looked like smoky rubble left after an earthquake, under the patchwork of gray dusky light the street lamps were shedding on the pavement like a bad dream. Twenty five minutes went by before I turned in the parking lot of the laundromat and started back the other way. Then dawn found me as well as the strange small town where I exist these days, and Wabash woke suddenly and sheepishly, like it had been tapped on the shoulder after nodding off. And there it was; there was this crumbling street of ancient bricks, looking so fragile and simple and alone in the pale foggy glow, I felt a throb of empathy arrest me as I ran through it. It was as if I were running through the spacious old soul of man’s collective sense of loss and isolation.

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About A B

"There is all this untouched beauty, the light, the dark, both running through me." -Over The Rhine
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