That summer feeling

Now that it’s getting dark a bit later, I’ve been slogging down dinner like a dog and running out the door for a bike ride as the sun goes down (while Steven gives me that greatest of gifts, time to move my ass and be alone). No need for sunblock, white gloves to protect my hands, sunglasses, or a special UV shirt. In other words, I can breathe.

I love dusk, especially at this time of year, when the sky is pink and pale, pale blue; large and cool, with a white-hot 3/4 moon hanging above and to the south. Some people are calling it a day, and others are just getting started. The ground still radiates heat, but on the bike it’s breezy and cool. Lights are going on inside houses (and curtains are forgotten as the light fades, so I can glance inside), fish is grilling, people are lining up in front of the big screen TV (why? The Lakers don’t play until tomorrow…).

I pass down a street off a major thoroughfare, one that backs up onto the last of the motels that still get stung by police raids for prostitution. It was still too hot to go back into the unairconditioned apartments, so everyone was hanging out talking. Two ladies shout after me in a melodic chorus, “We love your bike!”

Shortly thereafter I drift by a group of 20 hispanic men in white baggy shirts. They look menacing, but when I pass by, one waves hello (and I wave back, relieved). There are baby carriages with tired couples strolling the street, ladies walking their little yappers or giant, hairy dogs who have waited all day for the cool air and a stroll. Old men come out to walk and kids glide by on their scooters.

It’s one of the only times when the neighborhood seems quiet yet completely alive. After a number of years missing sundown in favor of bathing and bedtime routines, it’s thrill to be out in the electric transition from day to night.