Something about this rain is melancholic. The way it patters gently on the pavement that glistens, undisturbed, in the 3am stillness where you can hear the electric hum of channel letter lighting that never darkens, eternally proclaiming that the Walgreens across the road is a 24 hour pharmacy when, in fact, it closes at 11pm. Nothing is 24 hours any longer. This city has changed. The scars are still very much present. Some areas have healed over with the help of taxpayers and revolutionaries, others have been left to rot in the wake of riots that tore through the town in fevered search for justice that will never truly be served to man who died because a grocery store clerk suspected him of paying with a fake $20 bill.

It’s only in these witching hours between 3-4:30am that creatives can be rewarded to breathe a sigh of relief, relaxing and appreciating the momentary reprieve from too-loud vehicles and intoxicated shouting. This is the time when most of the city sleeps. 

Tonight, it sleeps beneath a chilled drizzle. The wetly shining pavement is punctuated by occasional vehicles that obscure the sounds of wasted electricity and lightly tapping raindrops. The rain lacks the body of its summer predecessors; the earth does not receive it as readily as it did when the nights were warmer. There’s a chill behind it, a thin veneer that heralds the arrival of autumn and all that comes with it. The leaves of the trees outside my window sound papery beneath the rainfall, the plump green gradually giving way to parched spectres of brown and red and gold.

Summer is over. Gather ye harvest and give thanks to the earth. Walk outside in the lingering evenings and squeeze out the sunlight to the very last drop.

Soon, the streets will be littered with autumn, the spice of decay perfuming the air, candles lit in defiance of lengthening darkness.

Soon will be the time to break bread and feast with loved ones, to celebrate the turning of the seasons and find magic in the snow that falls beneath dormant trees.

Soon, the city will go back to sleep, and dream through the long cold nights of waking up in the spring, refreshed, renewed, welcoming the nourishment of healing rains when they’ve returned to water the seeds of yesteryear in hopes that flowers may once again bloom in abundance.