The Magic Hour

I drove today, through our snowy city. The sun was setting, turning everything to magic; into, "look quick, the trees are singing, rocks crying out, my heart is on fire," magic. This is, as you know, the same magic that bats use to see in the dark, that paints zebras striped, and that cracks open cocoons to that ridiculous metamorphosis act.
I drove, and that magic settled on my shoulders, hair, neck. Like perfume. And I passed through the world in its golden haze.
I passed.

Past throbbing yellow houses and traffic lights . Past stores flipping closed signs and shelves lined with books. Past piles of melting slush, wet sidewalks, darkening sky, bare trees (clapping their bony hands).
I passed you, and I tied my heart to yours; shot up random prayers for random people - like a gun slinging fool, "I've got your back, kid." I sewed my city to my soul. I tapped my finger against the steering wheel, to the beat of the love song that the rocks were crying out.