Night life it's 11PM. I'm sitting on the window frame of my friend's guestroom, now my home for the summer. WPLN (our local NPR affiliate and my new employer) is playing a great jazz set out of a decrepit old radio I found at home in the attic. Little dell is glowing in my lap, attracting all forms of flying insects. With the brightness turned all the way down I can still see the setting mood and a few stars glittering bright overhead. I don't have an air conditioner in the guest room window yet (this is an old house), so it's cooler out here than inside. It smells like summer. Wet, humid, grassy, fresh. A little pavement. A lot of pollen and other things to make people sneeze. I love watching the lightning bugs and soaking up the night air.
I love summer nights.
It seems like so many of my memories take place at night. Sometimes they were snowy winter nights, other times they're the muggy evenings that make tonight seem like winter. When I was tiny, mom used to drive to get me to fall asleep. Something about motion and babies. It worked. Then, when I got older, the trips became journies into other worlds, accompanied by night-time music. The factories off Briley parkway were great smoking dragons at night. They guarded a hoard of "treasure," piles of glass that would sometimes look like gems, other times like silver or gold.
Nights like this make me think back on nights like that, and on nights out in the backyard on the phone or talking to the neighbors. Nights catching dozens of lightning bugs, nights watching for meteors. Nights and nights and nights outside.
"Fried Pies" by Wes Montgomery was the tune on the radio. Deceptively upbeat, with that leaned-back edge only jazz has. Upbeat, but still with the downside. That's life. Especially life at night.  ¶   0 comments