Warm Night

It's a warm night. The Viewpoint looks like a theater set, even more so than in the daytime. The dry lawn and trees up top are illuminated by the modernistic lamps, which cast an orangish light. Their buzz makes me think of the cicadas I used to hear in Gobo--except that it's an even sound instead of being one that gets louder and louder. The stark silhouettes of the ferns and blackberries lining the edge are pale green. Beyond that, almost everything is black. Only in the distance, the bridge is delineated by the lights of the cars traveling across it. It always reminds me of a string of pearls and for some reason makes me feel wistful.