|Tone poem at twilight: Cleveland
||[Mar. 22nd, 2004|10:22 pm]
When I got off the bus at Public Square this evening, it was twilight. A still, clear twilit evening. The neo-gothic rise of Tower Terminal, lit with spotlights, glowed against an cloudless indigo sky, detail in sharp relief and yet looking too beautiful, too perfect to be real: a canvas the size of life, rising above me in the chill, still air.
Studies have shown that merely lifting your eyes, simply looking up, elevates your mood. With my head thrown back I felt my spirit soar, embracing an impossibly deep blue contrasted with glowing beige stone. My steps were stayed, and I gazed at beauty as transient as a Japanese sand painting.
To the right of the building, looking west, Venus blazed in the sky, improbably bright, and below it the sliver of a waxing moon, recumbent. A silver chalice overflowing with herself, the ghost-shimmer of the full moon a visible shadow depite street lights and spot lights and all the artificial illumination modern life demands. I felt the wild pull on me and lingered as long as I dared.
Alas, though I feel comfortable moving purposefully through Public Square at night, to stand swaying on the sidewalk is to invite unwelcome attention from the motley crew inhabiting the area. I bade the moon farewell and headed for the train.
The evening cannot be cast in amber, preserved for eternity. But the memory of it expands my soul. Again, I am blessed.