The north wind knocked on the glass again. The snowfall outside the window, all covered with fluffy pillows, the world is sinking into a dream. The city slips into a dream. But it's too early for me to sleep, and I don't want to sleep at all. Recently, coffee was brewed, and now the taste of cinnamon and bitterness invigorates and gives amazing thoughts.
When the sunset died down, finally kissing the windows of the high-rise buildings, the sky was enveloped in cloudy shade, and now it's snowing for an hour. Tomorrow the city will wake up and will not recognize itself, and maybe will not find itself. It would be fun to look at it. People spend their whole lives searching for themselves, so why shouldn't cities do the same thing from time to time? And what a strange feeling it must be to get lost in a city that cannot find itself. How amazing it must be to wander in the one who is mistaken about himself. This is not only a verbal pun, but it is also a whole bunch of space and time.
Lanterns are already winking blindly, the noise of cars can be heard somewhere far away, but right here only snowfall music sounds. Almost lullaby...
When I leave home, the sky doesn't see me, too blind because of the clouds, and the city forgets to feel me. If he finally falls asleep, he loses himself - it becomes crystal clear, ceases to be just a little joke for a tired brain. Everything is too real, too real.
And unwittingly, I'm speeding up a step, because I want to run along the border between a city that still remembers who it is and a city that gets lost in a snowy whirlpool. The facet of subtlety and sharpness, like the moment that separates the past from the future, was from being.
Lanterns blink in tune with the growing melody, the city spins with the snow together, there are no more people or cars. It seems that here and now no one will be able to go out on the streets, maybe I'm already inside the dreams, because the city is asleep, and therefore must dream.
Dreams of the city are like snow clouds, they are dense and dense, full of foggy shades, immersed in darkness. They just get lost, lose themselves, but find something else. Sometimes even more important than what is lost. And that amuses me, too.
Perhaps there are hundreds of thousands of masks and faces of strangers lurking around here in the dark. And when they are so present in the matter of sleep, they do not even know how the mask differs from the face, which is more real. The main thing is not to apply any of them to yourself, because it is not enough, what kind of character will be caught...
The city sleeps and watches a dream in which it does not see itself, but finds many mirrors. Those mirrors do not reflect anything, except for the snowfalls. I also see these mirrors, but for me, they are definitely doors. I go through each of them, trying to breathe in the worlds they lead, take away and carry away.
There is a lot in common between people and cities. And when you walk along the edges of the city's sleep, that's all you think about. And by the way, it is very easy to penetrate into the dream of each of the people who have closed their eyelids with the city together. There is no one to stop me, and I wander from world to world, from dream to dream, from a city that imagines itself, to a city that does not know what it is...
Snowfall turns into a moth spin. Lanterns stop on the spot, but now it seems that they have grown up in more often, like densely ripe fruits: only the throne - and sprayed with sweet juice. The city has finally lost itself and has become a forest thicket.
Who will guarantee that the city cannot be a forest inside itself?
Who would say that he should always follow the same frozen form?
All the more so, who will make the city do so inside his own dream?
I stay where I am, and after a moment I realize that there is no forest around me, but mountains. A mountain town. How much the city did not know about itself that it was looking for such comparisons.
Now I am standing on the edge of the gorge. There, far down there, the northern wind is walking and it is snowing. But I'm too high, looking at the bodies of snow clouds that slowly crawl from one side of the gorge to the other. And the city... is almost out of town, I just know that the last lantern tangled in the branches of a tree seemed to have been standing on my street before.
Everything changes again, the worlds grow up and scatter dust, snow chips, water droplets. Beneath me, the waves of the sea roll over me and in me, and then the dream flashes with a thousand lights, they become stars, and...
Yeah, the city wakes up. It's not dawn yet, the lanterns, the houses, and the streets are drowning in the snow. I stand almost on the porch and slow down, not knowing how to tell the city that I liked to wander in his dreams. The north wind is laughing at me, and he's been laughing at me for a long time.
***
I'm finally opening the door. The hallway is dark, but I don't need any extra light. The one with the new street that didn't exist before. I know she'll take me to the hills, run past the forest... I know, but I'm not in a hurry to let her go.
Until dawn, the snowfall will stop soon, and the north wind will settle down, so it will be time to let the street out into the world. For now, it is still so fragile. Almost only mine. Mine and, of course, the sleeping cities.