Spaghetti Sauce

 There's not a lot to see at night, along the streets around here - three quarters of the world is made dark and shadowy; what ever might be in the other quarter I tend to skip past with barely a glance while trying to make out what might be there in the dark. What sort of things? Things like Coyote, a dark form on a dark street, who I chased up Grand and into June Vail Park. I thought to have him cornered there and could finally get to the bottom of some issues, but no, he doubled his pace and escaped across the field. Then there was the mother and small child on their own bike ride, more dark forms on another dark street; their bikes were lit up front and rear, as they should be, and I passed them on two occasions. I envisioned them doing their own evening laps or, perhaps, single loop since the child was pretty young.

Then there are the lights, bold and brilliant against the dark. Six houses still had multi-colored Christmas lights turned on, several others had white lights which might or might not be Christmas lights. Two houses had fully transitioned to Valentines lights. One house had "winter" lights - electric blue icicles and, though we are still far out from the holiday, one house had what I am calling Easter lights, in unusual pastel colors.

The light is fleeting, though, and the dark, well it is dark. More than during the day, the night rides allow other senses to come to the fore. Voices without form project from the shadows. Your face and, because you failed to zip up your wind breaker, your chest feels the cold air rushing against them. And the scents - I was at the top of Grand, where it runs into Alamosa and someone was cooking; I could smell the garlic bread fresh out of the oven, and I could smell the spaghetti sauce, spices and herbs simmering on the stove. Three times past, I breathed those scents into my nostrils and imagination, until it got a little too cold and, on the fourth lap, windows closed.

There may be less to see, but there is still a lot going on - things to hear, things to feel, things to smell, and above all, perhaps, things to imagine.