I’m always wary when in a parking garage. Women are trained to see them as places where rapists and muggers lurk, and even when they are well-lit they have a creepy ambience because of the slope and the narrow lanes.
Today I felt marginally safer because it was a crisp spring day, and the parking garage had plenty of daylight openings. I worried, though, about the people who saw me stalking around – would they think I was a car burglar?
No one seemed perturbed, though. I wandered slowly, perusing the angular architecture and the peek-a-views.
What I found is that I needed to keep my head up.
This was a place of juxtaposed bright and dark,
in paint and in light.
Of designs eroded into the roof drain pipes,
and concrete pillars.
Of external views becoming part of the garage itself,
even wisteria scenting the cement.
And trudging up the five levels, I found layers peeling away
until I reached the top.
That’s just what you have to do when you are in the dark: Keep climbing until you’re out of it.
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