In a City that Doesn't Get Dark

I walked out of an event on Friday night at the California Science Center and despite my tiredness I thought it was relatively early--until I got in my car and looked at the clock: 9:45 pm. What?

Driving up Vermont Avenue, I just stared at the skyline. It was dark outside, the sun wasn't still setting, and it wasn't magically the middle of summer instead of the end of February. But the sky did have a gradient appearance to it, from orange light to deeper dark.

And it was then I figured out that it doesn't ever really get dark in LA. The orange streetlights do cut down on the light pollution, I assume, but the city sprawls and is well-lit in its sprawling.

I realized now why the sight of stars was such a big deal, why they meant so much to people, to my friends, from Southern California when they came to Santa Cruz or Siskiyou County. And even though I had spent a few summer months down in Valencia in high school, I guess I still took the sight of stars for granted.

I began to wonder what is like to be in a place that doesn't get dark, that doesn't quiet down, that doesn't go to sleep--all things that do happen here in this city, but how much different is that dark, that quiet, that sleep from what I have known.

And yet, strangely, I somehow felt safe knowing it wasn't going to get dark as I drove the well-lit streets back to Mariposa, found parking two blocks away and walked home.