Nights in Savannah are glowing and mysterious.
Ship horns call out in the dark hours as they float
the Savannah River in eerie whistling silence.
The facades of ivy-covered homes seem to
bend outward against the head-high streetlamps
cornering the squares. Federalist and Georgian
homes show great contrast next to their
Victorian and French chateau-like neighbors.
The streets are always active, with squares being
tended to by stragglers and picture-takers, and
bikers always swerving through the re-directioned
streets and around the dog-walkers. The moss
hanging from all types of trees makes the cobbled
and bricked roads seem even more desirable to walk
down and perhaps even lay upon with a blanket. Spiral
staircases abound up front porches. Chandeliers
speak out into the night through frosted windows
on every second floor. The dark walking paths of
Forsythe Park leading to the fountain seem like a
Hungarian wood journey. The cemetery around
Oglethorpe is full of old visionaries entombed
in massive above-ground brick monuments. The
mossy trees blow in the wind around them as if the
moss is the hair of their guardians. When rain comes
in, when the clouds are low and leaving their fog
behind, the districts look like separate worlds.
It is a very shaded and effective world, one so
beautiful to walk through.
