Journal Entry: August 13, 2008

I'm living in a city.

Again.

I'm a country girl, farm-raised. I love the feel of nothing around me but cow pastures and bean fields.

And here I am, living surrounded by millions of other people.

People so thick, they're stacked several stories high. Walled in by concrete and glass. Organized into blocks and neighborhoods and separated by strips of asphalt.

Lights stretch to the horizon; beyond it, even. Farther than I can see. They shield the stars from sight.

My soul is pressed in upon by the crush of humanity.

Rich people in their SUVs with their suits and tinted windows.

Poor people in ragged, faded clothes, hawking their wares.

Moms with babies, bundled fiercely against the chill.

Teenagers, laden with hormones and insecurities.

Bus drivers, teachers, politicians, housewives, store vendors. All with separate but interwoven lives. All working, playing, resting, loving, laughing, talking, winning and losing, in the same space.

Traffic ebbs and flows. Shifts begin and end. The new arrive. The old depart. The city breathes- one more day crosses over from present to past.

And as it does, I sit and watch it from the perspective of my third-floor window. As insignificant and as critical as every other person who passes under my gaze on the sidewalk below.