Remembering the perks.

Moving to the Crescent has bestowed upon me unspeakable gifts. I've learned tolerance, strengthened my work ethic, honed my nagging skills, et cetera. I know what it's like to smell the Pacific just blocks away every day, and see rivers, untamed and wild, rushing into the ocean. There is a unique sadness to living such a solitary life, but occasionally being alone in my apartment with the windows open has let me be privy to things I didn't notice down south.

When I wrote this, it was one of those times.

Whistler

I can hear someone whistling in the dark

outside my window. 

A warm breeze carries it upward

to my music barren ears,

and I smile in my unlit apartment.

Looking through the moon soaked blinds

eyes crinkle upwards at each lilt in the tune,

sharing an unknown smile with my

whistler in the dark.

Harbinger of the stars,

cloak of evening bringing forth the ever present lullaby:

crashing surf, barking seals,

a lilting four-note tune beneath the street lamps.

A kid at the skate park echoes the sound

mirroring the evening whistler

and soon they are crooning to each other

songbirds, blocks and generations away.

In the dusk, nothing separates them

not time nor distance

speaking a musical language older than words

giving this gift to us listeners in the dark.