A city that sleeps - Day 18

I woke up this morning to an unusual sense of quiet. The light filtering through my curtains was softer, grayer, silent. The sound of the traffic seemed to have been chased away by all the gray surrounding the suburbs. A soft mist had settled on the streets as if to stroke the city into obedience.

It was warm.  

Usually a gray day in Durban would mean pulling the duvet over ones head and faking some overcast sickness. But in Joburg, on my very first gray day, I needed to touch this quiet that felt so unusual. 

Salomons on and hood up I paced down the street. Big puffs of breath exhaled away from my body, as the sound of takkie on tar echoed in the street like an apocalyptic apology.

It was glorious. 

As I reached the park, the grass gave way to a soft push which was different from the frosty crunch I had been so used to. The trees lay almost petrified in their sleep, not daring to wake the airiness of the gray day. 

From the view of the park I can normally summon the city into my day, setting the tone of ambition I daily crave. But this was a different day, a Tuesday that refused to give me sight of anything five paces ahead. Tears of cold ran down my face, and my smile grew into an awkwardly, gallant giggle.

Who knew this sneaky city slept.