Excerpt from “Peachland Boulevard”
Our stoplight has periodic meets-and-ends, stops-and-goes in the colors of unforgiving warning signs (green, yellow, red, green, yellow, red, gre–) all throughout the bustling day; however, after the stroke of nine PM, these Nine Night hours, the stoplight meets with green and refuses the ends of red. Even though the color green is a sign of welcome, no cars other than hometown vehicles bother coming near the intersection of Peachland and Harbor Boulevard after night falls–like a predator turned away by the bright colors of its prey.
Though, like a moth to a pretty lipped flame, I’m attracted to the still silence the relaxed asphalt brings during these Nine Nights and, although I shouldn’t, I’ve settled my bare back on Peachland Boulevard and relished in the welcoming gesture our lonely stoplight craves after a day of rushing cars and dog walkers and bicyclists.
The Nine Nights, every Nine Night, is my favorite.