The Sleeping City

The Sleeping City


I love to watch my city sleep.

She is beautiful and elegant, a thing to behold. From her bustling heart to her strong head, she is amazing. When the noise has died down and the people are in their beds, asleep, I am here, watching, listening, enjoying the dark and the cool breeze upon my face. I love to watch my city sleep.

She is beautiful, sleeping under the covers of the dark and the night. With her heart slowing, her back easing, her brain drifting away into slumber, I watch.

I watch the denizens of the night, the creatures both beautiful and beastly; human, and animal. I watch. I watch mothers and fathers, babes and children too. I watch.

I listen to the night. To the soft song of the wind, I listen. I listen to the chitter of a mother raccoon and her cubs, to the rustle of leaves, trees and bushes in the breeze, I listen.

I feel the cool air on my feet, my face and hands too. I feel the caress Of my city's blanket, that which brings comfort and feelings of security to her denizens, I feel it all.

My city is beautiful. She is a grand old gal with a youthful shell. She is smart and wise, she works for what she wants, and needs. By day she is active, bustling with activity. Her brain is one of the smartest around, with her people some of the most caring and care worthy. By night she stops her functions, and settles down, with her brain dreaming and her people tucked away into bed, she sleeps.

And I love watching her sleep.