The City, the weather turning now. The Harvest Moons rising high against the edge of the water. Boats rocking against the piers. Tankers and cargo ships anchored in the bay, the waves pushing against the locks. Giant glowing balloons beckoning the bounty of Autumn shorn from the surface of the plentiful terrain, loaded into the wild tilt cart, transported into the colder slate. Ashen colored caverns of the street, the carved cement walls of mirrored glass reaching into the night sky, their windows twinkling in the darkness like the eyes of Jack O’ Lanterns. The sidewalks teeming with leaves from trees that reside in four by four squares separating the sidewalks, dividing the concrete landscape every fifteen feet. They crunch and slide under the feet of the traveling masses, crawling the evening. The clicking of heels, the verb and the hum, the vibration of subterranean worlds inches from their soles. Metal sheathed slithering ribbons launching through the tunnels of the underground, “the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out.” The holes bored through the earth in catacombs filled with the mysteries of a million stories of eyes that rarely look directly into those of any other soul. Passing strangers en route to destinations anonymous. Steam rising from the vents, giving a hint of something deeper, places unspoken. Creatures that walk among the living, haunting the dreams and memories of those who hunt them, knowing that the Eve of All Saints approaches and the City never sleeps.
written on September 23, 2011
Image, Coit Tower from Pier 39, San Francisco, 2018