Walk In The Night

So tonight was our first full run of Yeomen of the Guard, with a full 20-something piece orchestra and the cast in their full, period styled regalia. It actually went really well, I thought. This show seems to me to have a bit of a slower pace compared to other Gilbert and Sullivan shows. But the operatic sound is rather delightful and - dare I say - pretty. It will be interesting to see how this show comes off.

I got home a little after 10pm, which for any community theatre tech rehearsal is actually exceptionally early. After being home for a bit I decided to go out for a walk. I don't why. Because I could, I suppose. What other reason does one need?

Anyways, I started out around 11:30 and followed mostly the same path I usually go when I walk around sunset. But this time, it was quite different. It was...peaceful. Calm. Serene.

Quiet.

I experienced the world in a way that few people ever do, for no other reason than they simply choose not to. At first I only noticed the apparent absence of any sound within the dark canvas that surrounded me. But then the music of the night started to fade in, as if someone was slowly edging up the volume knob of a radio, higher and higher until it virtually begged to be noticed.

I heard crickets at first, perhaps only one or two initially, until they eventually grew into an entire army. There might be a whole bustling city of them out there, all past the edge of human sight. And then over the top of it, like a solo piccolo in an orchestra, came the tweets of a single bird. It was far in the distance, and seemingly tentative yet incessant. Repeating. Again. And again. As he threw his song out into the world, with no one but me and the crickets to hear, it seemed as if he was merely practicing. Testing out his voice, as it were. Probably he didn't expect anyone to be listening.

As I continued walking, I must have gotten fairly close to him, as his song grew more urgent, almost alarmed. He was probably spooked by my presence, since it's so unusual for him to see humans out at this hour. As well he should be. Creatures from my species are dangerous creatures indeed. But eventually he must have decided I was not a threat, for his song simmered down and continued on its original course.

I found that I could focus my hearing like an antenna, and I picked up the distant sound of cars on the freeway, which at this distance sounded almost like the crashing of waves on a beach. Steady and unrelenting. It's pretty easy, at this hour, to remove yourself from reality and transport your mind to just about anywhere.

As I walked, the day passed through that invisible marker of linear time: midnight. A new day had begun. The transition was so seamless that it wasn't even noticeable. A moment ago it was Tuesday, now it's Wednesday. Time marches on. Who really notices?

I wish I could reveal more hidden miracles of the world that I discovered on my journey, but unfortunately the reverie was broken by some idiots in cars doing donuts in a nearby parking lot. Why do humans have to go screwing everything up? It's almost like the moronic masses believe they've found their own distorted meaning of life. "Welcome to earth, your purpose is to muck up everything as much as you possibly can". And they do, they do.

It's a good thing the earth still retains a lot of beauty that mankind has not yet found a way to tarnish. Oh well. Time for bed.