I’ve taken up the habit of wandering around the city’s pulsating streets and cracked sidewalks long after the sun has been gobbled up by the nearby mountain range.
I forget what surprises surface beneath a canopy of obsidian, breaking through the yawning darkness with vivid colors of neon glowing keenly against a black backdrop.
A technology developed over a century ago, these cylinders of gleaming glass generate an entire spectrum of colored light, illuminated by the flow of electricity igniting gasses trapped inside a thin, transparent tube.
I forget not to take for granted how the image of a glowing bluebird or a boring word like lunch can be made to dance on the delicate surface of the eyes, reminding me to smile (if only a little) as I roam through a dying nightfall.
Photographs and Non-fictitious Scribbles copyright Mike Yost 2017
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