A Man By The Dawn

Like every ordinary morning, the lamps along a quite street, among little homes with yellow doors, turn off. The families in those homes, whether in a hurry or yawning over a cup of coffee, paid no mind to the man responsible for their light. Like most other things, the lights seemed to live all on their own. And so the man who lit them every night and dimmed them every morning was nothing more than a ghost.

The man tucked his red socks into his shoes, just as he did every morning. He pulled the comb from his shirt pocket and fussed hopelessly with his beard, although no amount of fuss could change it's grey, nor his own grey. He said goodbye for now to his cat, left his home with a long, metal wand, and set out towards the end of his street.

After he rounded the find bend, he came towards a bench, one he often sat at most mornings, especially when the air was damp and his joints were stiff; a morning such as this one. Routine had handicapped his awareness and it took the old man until he was already sitting down to notice a small boy with a red umbrella sitting in the grass next to him. The man blinked a couple times and sorted what to say. He decided to say hello and to remark on how his pants must be wet from sitting on the grass after the rain and dew. The little boy looked at the man with a plain a face and replied that indeed he was wet and that someone should make an umbrella for the bottom of you, that way one might be able to sit in the grass and remain dry. The old man nodded and paused for he knew not what he could add to the boys observation.

The night was still hanging on to morning and the sun had yet to peak over the park's hill. The glow above the bench from the first street light flickered reminding him it was time to put it out but he though perhaps it would be wise to wait a bit longer so that the boy could find his way home safely. He encouraged the boy to go back home since he was sure that there would be a frantic mother should she wake and find her son not in bed. The boy asured him that he lived on this very street and that he would like very much to watch the man shut off the lights as he made his way back home. The old man thought that it was sensible enough a request since he was to walk the entirety of the street himself until he reach the end where he, himself, lived. By then surely the little boy would be back in his bed. The man nodded and stood up to dim the light with the long wand that ended with a little hat to snuff out the flame. It smoked and smelt fine as it mixed with the damp air.

They both walked side together from one lamp to the next, and every time the man dimmed one, the flame was replaced by grey and the boy was sad to watch the light die. He asked the old man why he must put them out as he swung his umbrella, still open, by his feet. The man responded by saying that the sun would be out soon and does such a better job at lighting the street then the lamps do. The boy was quiet as they continued towards another and then another lamp. He looked towards the park hill that was barely visible now, and the sun began to shine in thin stripes. The boy then looked back at the lamp and felt sadness as the smoke emptied from it. He corrected the old man, exclaiming that the sun was not an adequate replacement for the lamp. The man narrowed, curious, and asked him to explain. The boy continued by stating that the sun was too bright, that the lamps were much more beautiful to look at. That should you look at the sun the same way it would blind you. The lamps, however, are perfect for they can be admired all on their own or as a whole for hours if you'd like. They allow for love and admiration. The man thought earnestly about this sentiment, allowing it to occupy his heart. The boy kept walking and swinging his umbrella.

The man broke from his thoughts and looked towards the lessening lamps along the street. He asked the boy why he was out there all alone in the dark while he reached up and dimmed another light with more hesitancy than before. The boy explained that he wanted to enjoy them before they went out and that had there be no one to put the lamps out and they stayed alive all day, they would still surely look best in the dark. It's how they stand out and how they fulfill their purpose. The man pressed the boy to know the why for his being alone but he only responded by saying that he was in fact not alone and that the houses were too close together for that.

The houses, although were many and close together were running out and the man began to worry that he passed the boys house already. He asked the boy but he confidently replied that they were almost there. There were only two lamps left and the man asked if the boy would like to admire them a few moments more but to his surprise he shook his head. He said only that they will have their time to shine again. With that, the man snuffed them both out and watch the last of the grey smoke disappear into the morning air.

Upon turning to see the boy, he realized he was already gone, tucked inside a small brick home with a yellow door and so he turned towards his own The door was slightly open but upon inspection there was nothing out of place, and his cat was not missing. He thought it save to relax and so he settled into his chair. His favourite things were all in view: a collection of poems, plants, his carpet freshly clean, and his cat. It was enough to make him smile, not with the brilliance of the sun, but with that of a lamp.