My house is determined in sanctioning the most opposing conditions to the seasons at present. In the winter it cools to an unreasonably shivering temperature, while in the summer sitting on the couch is no longer an enjoyable circumstance. Rather, I find it pragmatic to take a book outside or find an excuse to use the car in efforts to reap its precious air conditioning. However, on this Monday night, thinking it best to stay in, I found myself later wandering the neighborhood with the cumulation of the music from my phone and the sounds of the night collectively providing my pleasant atmosphere.

The crescent shaped moon was perfectly erected in the sky, almost as if hanging from a string like a prop in a play. The night had not been of total darkness, and the light left illuminated the pathway around the park and throughout the houses. Just as I passed a picturesque street lamp, with memory of “La La Land” in my head, I heard a sound triggering a very sudden apprehension. The sprinklers were turned on by one of my neighbors, forcing me to transform my leisurely stroll into a sprint to the end of street. By then my headphones had ejected and the panting commenced, reflecting a lack of athleticism that honestly I could offer no excuse for. Paired with the chirping of cockroaches and the distant barking of dogs, there was an echoing throughout my neighborhood that alluded to the behaviors of the night.

It was on this walk that I thought about the many triumphs of being out late. It appeared that every daytime action in night gave it a stronger emotion and one demanding of influence in formulating memories. The laughter of friends sitting around a dinner table, or drives through blackened streets with music blasting from car speakers, were given a sort of depth that resulted in a new found excitement for even the simple action of walking around. It was at night everything silenced, the gentle sound of quiet was something to cherish and savor. The aroma of the wet cement dampened by the sprinklers, and even the crispness of the air, offered a trait exhibiting the night. I became a member of the scene, a wanderer in this field of emptiness. The night truly was void of all qualities of the day, but its character was fierce, replacing such empty with an undeniable substance that filled you. The words of people were tainted, they obviously came out of the same thoughts, but had a distinct edge subjected to the attitudes of this night.

The drive up the street to my house lined with pine trees on either side, and with the windows rolled down, I could not see further than the horizon yet I still knew of the destination in mind. They were instances of great deliberation, steering the wheel and anticipating my home, with the nighttime as my passenger.

With these thoughts in my mind I journeyed back to my own indoor sauna, in hopes my parents had turned on the air conditioning.