3 a.m.

My hour of wakefulness.

This city hums at night with a restlessness that is the bloodline of the day. Until 5 a.m., no stillness, except in our kitchen, where no one dares to creep in.

I wait for the breathing of the city to begin. So different, these sounds, from the whispering of Utah trees on the Avenues hills. This city has winds that carry currents through cobblestones, whispers are voices over water, and the sounds extend like fingertips tickling a forehead.

I am awake and listening.