with the window open, i can hear the train going by in the middle of the night.

like some distant thunder, it wafts to my bed through the darkness, the sound coming from nowhere, but quickly becoming so natural you begin to think it had always been there before.

as the rumble recedes, and eventually pitter patters away into the dark from which it came, the sudden silence is startling. the quiet of the night is new again, the peace of the darkness undisturbed, reminding me that there is still much to wonder about outside my picturesque three-pane window.

lights pierce the darkness, a part of my everyday sights.

but there are stories behind those lights. behind the faces who placed those lights. and the minds who created those lights.

everything has a story. every face, every tree, every mailbox, every traffic light.

our world is full of stories.

so maybe we're just here to listen.