even I blush,
watching the sun wake the sky.
When I lived in Chicago I only saw the sunrise once.
It was three days before I moved. The fits of stress broke into full blown insomnia for the final week. I stirred the slumbering dog, peacefully unconscious on the giant feathered bed, cotton sheets, dark rouge walls, thermostat set at 72, and headed to the lake.
5:30 am early fall.
I'm not too fond of lakes so big. I always want them to be oceans, teaming with dolphins and seals close to the shore. Still I search, perhaps Nesse will replace the ocean vessels going to Port in Garry, Midwest, Indiana. I remember the clouds where thick and huge that morning, they wrestled Lake Michigan into big, sloshy, lake-waves. I had my cigarettes, my dog, and an oversized coat. I walked down the Promenade, via Lake Shore Drive. Solitude in a city is not only for the privileged.
Insomniacs.
The disciplined,
and Maximum Security Detainees.
I remember walking, wondering why I hadn't done this sooner, more, before, why hadn't I explored? Where was my fun climbing tree spirit, what's that next neighborhood, just below Hollywood Blvd. Lincoln Park? I'd lived there for a year I knew 5 major streets, 2 bars, one phone number, my own, and this single sunrise.
Today I'm not mad at Chicago anymore.
But the weather was really cold, then really hot.