When I was younger, Minneapolis always seemed as though it were in a sno globe to me. Except the seasons were switched - it was always summer, never winter in my mind. If you shook the globe, the entire city would convulse and all the houses would be thrown upward into the gold-blue sky and float lazily - upside down and sideways - until they settled back down gently into their proper places. The only traces of magic would be in the leaves and branches of the tree limbs that had grown together over top of some of the streets. This is what I think of when I see the city at sunset.
Tonight, as I was shooting out of the underground tunnel on 94 (I say shooting because I always feel like I'm in Star Wars or I, Robot when I can't change lanes, and everyone's suspended together in the orange lights for ten seconds), all the skyscrapers seemed extra stately and strangely lit with the sun. It had already set, but the summer light still cast everything in a creamy, glowing blue. All the streets were veins spreading out from the center, and I felt a part of something much more intricate and full of life than I usually do. The traffic pulsed outward, but we all felt pulled back in. Even before I left, the men sitting on the street curbs smoking cigarettes with dirty hands knew this and wanted to be there. It was too hot to stand or walk, and they were content to rest on the corners by street signs and fire hydrants in the blurry smog. I wanted to sit there with them myself, but instead I played soccer with some people in Uptown and got sweaty and my pants stuck to my legs. I drank two full glasses of lemon iced tea when we got back to the house.
I am looking forward to moving to Minneapolis this August.