The perimeter of the city in a Red Night and Bright Day

I like what that symbolizes and concur, my friend called herself Pinko, and another friend pointed out roseate hues from a streetlamp a few weeks ago by Maxwell Elementary. We were on our way to Lynaghs. He said this was a "holy" color evoking a certain mood--and I was just like seeing it only in the abstract. Nothing about the color pink draws me into a chimey spirit. Certainly I'm not being patrician or macho--it just doesn't lend any ambience. (I'm purposely not deriving the obvious worded PINK on the ass of many a co-ed's sweatpants. Hot? Yes. Stupid or silly? Yes.) Anyway, Isaac Babel always had strewned his Soviet-Jewish writings with dusks lending a colorfield in variants of rose. I just see the ominous Sun with this, and a landscape in transition from rebellion. Iron blades drinking life's blood at twilight--the recesses of mother night hiding the damage.
~~Nothing dreamt, a solid state orderly green vista, just sky & earth had captivated me, holding out the last rescue of the peace my old neighborhood had to offer-its extension out over by the farm on Parkers Mill not 3 mls from the airport. A walnut treed path down to it, but only after my lined street with pines at the liminal point--I am in good company feeling comfortable I'm destined to wander amongst tall trees alone, in a comely loneliness. I read there Isaac Babel's Cossack stories of deprivation, mystic churches, impoverished Jews, war. The emblems probably a 100 yrs ago and my stumble into the Soviet early days, a percussive revolution in cognizant immediacy, were perhaps a tachanka, a kind of military wagon, not unlike the zeitgeist we associate w/ the military industry as in the US: how it performs in our environment (fashion, culture, social demise), & horses, the sentience-of-promise in front of me there under a pine tree now at the perimeter of a church parking lot, looking off into their field on this ubiquitous Ky horse farm. The loom of an unknown destiny untethered then in my life, had me look closer at what was intermediate space in everyone's life in & around me & made it important to me. I called it my own, lived up to MY expectations, & gathered no more than wall flowers, but enough of a kind of inner-attention to bring it all to the table when the new day arose.