Inside out

I live in the city now.

A cacophony of sounds.  Some little kids are rollerblading in the alleyway, running into the dumpster to stop.  A train rattles by.  The constant stream of traffic on 'the 10' freeway.  My downstairs neighbors are Middle Eastern and today they're having a big, loud family get together. A helicopter thrums overhead. Air conditioners struggle to keep up.

Being outside is unbearable most of the day.  I close my blinds and crank up the air conditioner. It drowns out most of the city noise. Heat pours in around the edges of the windows.

But the evenings. The evenings are lovely.

When the sun starts to set, I open my windows and go out on the balcony.  The air is creamy and the breeze runs its fingers through my hair.  One skinny, tall palm waves on the horizon, and it lines up perfectly with the sunset.  To the right I can see the San Bernardino mountains, but only in the evening.  During the day they are obscured by the smoggy, dusty air.  In the evening, they are backlit and they turn shades of grays and purples as the sky flares into oranges behind them.

I can still hear the city, but I don't mind so much.

Past the palm trees, the pinks have faded, while the oranges deepen.  Crickets have started singing for me.




The sky is fading into darkness.  Coyotes yip to each other across the foothills.

I am not a city girl, but I am thankful to be here in this city.