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the slippery whet ruse

At 6 AM the streets were still wet when I walked alone to my stop this morning. Even though the rain had subsided hours ago they were still shimmering under the street light glow, and the effect of the reflection made the black tar glimmer eerily white.

A few hours earlier, as I read under the warm candescent light of the shaded lamp standing lonesome in the corner of the living room, I occasionally heard the hush of wet wheels rushing outside my window. And since I did not hear any pitter-patter upon the pane, I was momentarily confused by the sound of the lingering storm, of the rain and rubber tread making music together for the merry-go-round—swish, swish-swash, swash; the carousel lullaby steadily threatening to lull me back to sleep, and back into my warm bed.

Yet, despite this somnolent, slippery whet ruse I was able to read on accompanied by the morning song of early risers rushing off to work.

When it was time to make my own way back into the cold fold of the metropolis, I strolled under a dark blue night light and noticed two stars radiating sharply at the corner of the sky, one slightly stronger than the other. They were so keenly luminescent that for a moment I thought it was a tilted Cessna somehow mystically hovering in mid-flight.

It was an uncanny sight which soon disappeared with the dawn, that began to glow a quarter of an hour later.

Once on the bus, the morning seemed a little less magical, as I quickly left the luxury of quiet solitude to be swallowed up by the sounds of the City and society awakening about me.

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