In the Darkest Hours
My footsteps muffled in the darkest
Deserted streets
Fill my consciousness
This dark, dark time
Before the day
Is like another country
A woman in the driveway
By her house
Looking as bewildered as if she
Awoke this morning in Budapest
Eyes me with misgiving
I comfort her with my smile
And good morning
She smiles back
Cars pass sleepily
With seeming reverence
For the quiet
Each stark moment
Dramatically backlit
Begs notice
Reinforces the importance
Of now
In the darkest streets
My footsteps muffled
I am conscious
Of every
One
I get up at about a quarter to five most weekday mornings to make my commute to work in a suburb about fifteen miles from my home. Everywhere, the mood is quiet and subdued, as if mindful that others might be sleeping. In my home it’s true - my family is sleeping. When I go outside at around six o’clock, I find it is also true there. Windows are dark, and streets and sidewalks are all but deserted.
In the solitude of quiet darkness, footsteps seem more special. Without cars to watch out for or fellow pedestrians to consider, footsteps gain importance since they are making the only sound. It becomes easier to acknowledge and savor each footstep when it is so quiet and all the usual distractions are asleep.
It is good practice to notice your footsteps. They are numbered, you know. You only get to take so many. You may as well take notice of them. Enjoy them, if you can. Why not?
