The last warmth of spring afternoon bleeds from the stones, and a chill begins to rise. A fitful breeze swirls litter in the street, flotsam on a cool river through which we wade; houses for banks, and a tarmac bed. Overhead the sky cools to dusk, a blue tonsure pricked with early stars and fringed with sodium light. A ragged bunch of adventurers, swaying from a closed door. Idle feet tap a random tattoo as they warm to their theme, left right, left right, we all fall in.

It’s a long walk but a nice night, pleasant for the place and the season. We have good company, time in hand, and a fine prospect at the end of the road. The cheer of the afternoon past swings us on, feet slapping happy at the floor. Rising excitement takes hold. We josh and jostle then settle to traveling order, our company arrayed. The streets are quiet. Afternoon is over, it’s everyone home for suppertime, evening around the corner. Alone on the road, eyes wide drink in all they can. A generic palette of parked cars does nothing to alleviate the grey and the imagination, unfettered, roams as free as our eyes.

The last rays of the setting sun catch at roofs and chimney pots, coloring them red, orange, purple, gold. Gulls flash as they wheel and glide to hang in stratified patterns, toying with up-drafts and the slack evening breeze. Soaring with them as we walk below, our mind’s eye shares this different view; their land a blue-tiled plateau under a setting sun. These white-winged hawks stalk and swoop above a land of ridges and street-crevasse, eerie cries rolling across rooftops, echoing in traffic-worn gorges of stolid granite.

Eyes full of sky sweep to street level, confounded by shadow. Denied the bright world above, that last sun a thin band above beyond smooth walls of stone. Adjusting to the darkness, we hunt for features lost in the relative gloom. Twilight holes grow stonework edges, details penciled-in as pupils dilate. Bottomless shadows mellow to doors, windows, winking brass fittings and white bars. Night settles down here. Lights begin to spring from homes built into the cliff wall. We move past, explorers, people of purpose, observers of specimens in stone jars. Natives glare; judgmental eyes framed by front room glass weighing our expedition, denying our effort and enjoyment before returning to their spoon-fed excitements. Couch potatoes sated and centered in their habitats, basking in the piped Valium glow as we mission past unseen. Evidence of these lives litters the gully floor. Broken beds, spent sofas, the discarded remains washed down by rains, piled against bins that stand solid as rocks in the stream. In some streets there are no lights. Shadowed crevices proliferate, mouths of caves peopled by a secretive race. Tunnels lead through cliff faces to labyrinthine lairs of exotic creatures, all claw and fang and eyes in the darkness. Vertical fissures, black painted, tumbling water from the lost world above.

Streets drop behind us, Places into Mews into Gardens into Street again; left turn right turn, we all fall in. Our cold river, fed itself by dead-end tributaries, now in turn joins a larger way. We burst from a closed world of dark jungle anonymity. The cliffs fall back; we are suddenly visible among gardens and driveways. Flowered borders blaze in a riot of black and white. Street-lit trees drape in flat silhouette, branches caught and frozen in a strangled tangle that still writhes in the corner of the eye. Greened trunks march beside us interspersed with gloss black iron, leaves and light entwined. Such light, no longer natural but abstract orange. Branches reach forward to be painted in harvest fruits; low walls mellowed to yellow hold back shadow seas of deep sonorous blue. We glow as we pass each light, warmly resplendent in saffron and ochre. Eyes and teeth glint and chatter, then turn again to face the cool slow dark.

Awareness and distance change with the passing lamps. We are bound close by each light, an island bubble of shared detail, unconsciously bunching, feeding from seen smiles and passed banter. This transient world a passing cone edged by an ethereal angle. Pass through the border from light to dark and awareness inverts. We are suddenly the bung in a funnel, focus of a subtle world expanding dark and darker under layered shadows reaching around and above to crisp stars. Darkness robs us from each other, close companionship to sudden isolation. A group when lit, made sudden sentinels by darkness. Bastions wrapped in our own protections, posing proprietary in a cliff-top stance. Rightful travelers, kings of a land touched by darkness: the land between the lights. 

Looming in the dark, a church, dark and foreboding. A spired eyot, solidly cleaving our road. We are rushed together as the way narrows; the swift stream dark, deep and relentless as it draws us past. Stained windows, a rainbow of Godly light by day, reflect the street gleam in a glassy black. Blank masks cover unguessable depths. This dark world threatens; depths not shadows, but an ominous cage. We crowd together as a unanimous silence settles, ranks closed. Without warning the church is past. Oppression over, we are flung into a wide world, the river at our feet branching between railed islands of grass and tree. Shadowy hints of foliage border languid turf pools, dark beyond the lamplight. A broad way now guides us directly down the centre as the banks recede, lit by festive strings of distant lamps. No flotsam here, the road wide and easy, stately trees guiding us on. Their orange skirts flounce under unseen heights, neat plantings and rails at their feet. Beyond, the telltale beginnings of strip lights and neon. White lights, no romance, no softening of hue, highlighting the true glimpse of one final corner. We turn it as one. 

He knocks into us like a bowling ball through pins, stumbling left and right. A swaying drunk, rumpled and stained from a heavy afternoon. Each crease of clothes and face is thrown into stark contrast by the bright fluorescence of a shop window. We dance, partners locked in some mirror of moves, until his balance fails and we swerve round him one by one. Stretching before us the river falls into a grey valley, down and down, a long straight toward a distant sea. On either side wide paths; drover’s roads, ancient elephant track ways, scattered with early crowds. Males strut, uniform plumage black or blue below, crisp and white above. Females totter, shining in sparkles and sequins. Tasteless acres of flesh, spilling or taut, drag memories of warm afternoon into the cold evening. Whoops sound from either side of the valley; mating calls, intimidations, greetings. Occasionally large groups throw themselves into the stream, fording breaks in the traffic. Lone males loop and swing from one wide path to the other, weaving routes between stationary boulders. The lurid scene is lit along its length with a carnival of brilliance; tall streetlights, lamps strung across the chasm, square fluoro glows from the few shops not shuttered against the mass. For a full mile the glittering dazzle recedes into perspective. Obvious dots of white shirt, the flash of a tastefully turned sequined flank, all picked out in showroom glow.

Strung out along the path we wander this circus, eyes wide on the freaks. A hen party squawks past. Each sports a pink plastic token for later, when recognition of faces known since childhood will become difficult. They have spilled from a barn of a bar, a cathedral to weekend religion. Steel and glass fronted, all inside become a fishbowl exhibition. Drink flows; conversation is forced through music heard across the gulf between us, volume making up for style. The crush inside decked in this afternoon’s purchases are squeezed between leather walls. Sticky sofas match those in cliff houses, surrounded by faux-chrome and faux-cheer. The doors between prison bars of brushed steel are guarded by black nylon balloons, angry shaven baboons, bristling at passing trade. Nothing separating them from the roaring masses but a dark jacket and the day of the week. A commotion in the crowd: one of the males is denied entry. Separated from his mate a scene ensues. Loud voices float across to us in virulent clouds of red and black. Hackles rise, fists are raised, the male puffing up to match the size of the bouncers. He pitches a wild attack fielded by one meaty black-clad arm, and is flung to the street. The emotionless partner holds back jeering crowds and the distraught mate.

We watch, sickened yet excited by this animal brutality. Bunched on the far bank we are unseen, all eyes on the action. Emotions are almost visible, clouds of thunder flashed scarlet with anger, green with confusion and frustration. Our eyes see too, woven into the scene like mist the lurid and tempting rainbow of possible fun. This elusive grail they hunt and worship every week, treading age-worn paths that lead nowhere. The confused aggressor tosses a final challenge to sniggering guards, throws off a helping hand, turns to leave with face screwed in incomprehension and the threat of tears.

Moving on to ford a tributary stream, a sharp horn blasts awareness back to our feet. Thoughtless fording brings danger, and a sudden realization of where we stand. We are in the firing line here, not immune; both banks subject to this casual behavior. Too easy to be drawn into a situation, plunged personally into this mire. We are ill equipped to deal with local custom, this world of posture and violence. With wary eyes we continue, each turned inward, personal survival now paramount. Even the statues, rock hard and safe on pedestals, look down with regal faces twisted in repressed fear.

Ahead in the path is a brute of a man; silverback, chief chimp, dragging tonight’s prize. Tonight’s brief escape from this horror of confrontation and posturing. Mingled fear and pride shows on her face, perfect body sparkling in jewels and hugging cloth. Tanned flesh leads the eye to her obvious virtues, belied by vacant eyes as mere window-dressing, bait for eyes that linger too long. To lust invites recognition. Not from her; to her we are invisible. Dun plumage and hobbled strut nothing to catch an eye trained on crisp shirts and grade cuts. Instead recognition from the carved man who leads her, weathered and hacked by years of questing for that elusive grail. Hardened by conflict, his fruitless efforts turned to an angry resignation. His goal, unlike us, now forever beyond his grasp. Eyes averted, we walk wide and leave them behind.

More faces litter the path, each alight with the prospect at another try for the prize. The weekend is here, another chance to hide failure in a parody of success. With that light ignored the faces become slack and listless, melted smiles drawn on masks by a blind man. We pass them by. A sudden vista opens, a sunken world in darkness beyond the reach of light, roofed with those same stars that looked down onto our dark world of before. We are no longer protected as we were then. The stars are the same but we no longer have our cloaks, our cool composure; no longer in our mysterious land. Here we are intruders, dancing to different tunes, ours a different quest. Our paths lead spirals into worlds beyond, not down and down, feasting on the same filth and calling it fresh.

Further ahead herds of braying creatures press and waver, bunched for breath before plunging down a side street. As we hunker by there is a glimpse of carnage. A hell of mis-dressed directionless souls, pointed from punishment to punishment by flyer-guides, scattering tickets to oblivion among the throng. Preened and pretty young things admire each other openly. Flesh, for sale or rent to those left standing, the only solace once oblivion pales. Fake reward: the prospect of pounding your victory away, staring into a slack face mirroring your defeat. As we pass the street a final glimpse: a cowboy-hatted horror, the ultimate capitulation. Already in tears, friends crowd her dressed in little-girl-princess splendor as they stamp firmly on the last shreds of childhood.

The carnival falls behind; we pass on as neon fades back to a steady sodium glow. Regrouped, a party of shuttered knights, close-lipped from the horrors of crusade. Each masters himself, drawing protections over private thoughts. Once again we are kings, striding onward to a certain door in a certain cliff-face. Tense seconds after the buzzer is pressed; a burst of noise, a password is spoken, and we pass inside.

Sudden closeness stifles as the door swings shut. The dark world outside of endless tendrils linking each shadow ends at these gloss black panels, severed with a snick. Now our world is enclosed, bounded by walls, distant stars now a close ceiling. Spent mail and forlorn bicycles adorn a hall of closed doors, a stair leading on and up. We climb, an expedition still. Hands on handrails counted as we trace a broken spiral, taking care now we’re safe to leave no one behind. We pass landings of secure doors and banished furniture, not bad enough to warrant hurling to the street to wash against bin-boulders. Higher and higher until a final door, open a crack, wells with light and laughter. We file in, drawn by a golden wave of music and warmth. Our smiling hostess sways forward, ushers us in. Friendly faces spill from the kitchen full of a welcome more than words, but warmth that can be felt. Cloaks fall from us, discarded with the cares from our journey. Blinkers and barriers to shut out the world melt slowly away under the flaming caress of love and acceptance.

Awareness pulls in, no longer stretched over a dark cool world. Now trimmed and honed, attuned to warm currents drifting through the flat, teasing this direction and that. We slide past the kitchen. A glimpse of folk standing tall, clutching cans and chatting. Smoke wreathes the air, torn to shape by gesticulating hands, expansive and expressive. Enthusiastic greetings are slotted into sentences already formed. Our arrival is acknowledged with delight, but taken in with the topic at hand. At a table a seated conversation creates a world on a different level, height the only difference. It is enough to create a room of rooms, layered above and below. Conversations flow around and through each other unhindered. Smoke trails from cigarettes to hang sedimentary in the air.

In the next room the smokes are subtler. A hanging bracelet entwined with thought traces languid sigils over seated confusion. The sofa is draped with bodies, pixies perch on arms, others stuffed in among the cushions. People stretch around and through one another on the floor, a muddle of beany bodies. Laps become chairs, girls lounge on chaise-lounge legs forgotten in animated discussion. Conversation rises and falls with a music all its own. Words and laughter erupt in vaporous clouds to take on the hue of the room. Thoughts and colors weave together with music creating a rich harmony, a glow that can be sensed and almost seen.

Our welcome is warm again, words only a fragment of what is truly meant and felt. Spaces are found amongst the tumble, seats are taken, and we enter the melting pot. Conversations range far and wide, all enthusiastic and appreciated. Tales of far away mix with recountings of favorite histories; the time we did this, do you remember when, a rich embracing tapestry. The laughter flows abundant with the wine. Above all the smokes hang in ghostly record of thoughts and words, a trail to fall back on when the train of thought inevitably derails.

All our barriers have fallen now, no fears or confusions as we recount our odyssey. We are open, all senses wide, sharing all that is there to give. The audience revels with us, fears with us, adventures with us. Around the room faces are wild, animated. These are not everyday faces; each glows with a depth of character and truth, caricatures of a higher purpose. Eyes flash with fire, purple, green, gold. Sparks of soul glinting in the low light. All hues blend; faces, clothes, sofa, and the fabric of the room itself. All mellow to crimson gold, matching warmth that can be felt not as heat but a glow on the skin.

Our tale done, I sit back to observe. There is traffic, a swapping from here to the kitchen. Friends come to expand on earlier greetings, hear again snatches of our tale and share their own news. Drinks are drunk, smokes haze into ceilings above us as tongues wag on. All begins to dissolve into one amorphous impression of laughter and love, one whole room smiling with the same face. Individuals shift and change, friends meld together as energies spread. Other faces appear in the circle. Friends from other times and places are here with us, their faces too open in laughter. They glow with that same glow, weaving their party with ours from wherever they are. I sit back and watch in wonder as the walls recede, this place no longer important. We are here and now, but here is everywhere. Beyond this room, this city, connections a world away all woven tight. We were here before we arrived, will be here once we’re gone. We are with those far friends just as they are here with us, existing in our own space outside time. As the smokes curl I close my eyes and smile, watching another evening fade to legend.