Porchlight Glow: Goodnight, Cabbagetown

Lyrics

The blue drains from the sky.
Just a sliver of peach over the mill.
And then… the first one clicks on.
A single yellow bulb on Wylie Street.
A soft little star, haloed in humidity.
It spills down the worn wooden steps,
counts the ghosts who’ve climbed them.
It reaches across the narrow lane,
touches the house next door.
And another light answers.
And another.
A constellation, drawn low to the ground.
And the porchlight glow says we are home.
Says the day is done.
Says rest now, you’ve earned it.
Goodnight, Cabbagetown.
Goodnight.
Up on the hill, the old brick fortress breathes out light.
A hundred windows in the Fulton Mill,
a hundred separate lives where the looms once screamed.
Each window a story, a warm square against the dark.
And your light, little shotgun shack,
you answer them right back.
You were here first. You remember the steam.
And the porchlight glow says we are home.
Says the day is done.
Says rest now, you’ve earned it.
Goodnight, Cabbagetown.
Goodnight.
The last laugh fades from Carroll Street Cafe.
A screen door slaps shut on Berean Avenue.
A train calls out, low and long, from the tracks by the cemetery wall.
And all this quiet, all this history,
is held in the soft, steady light.
The promise you make to yourself,
every single night.
Just the light.
Just the quiet.
Goodnight, my Cabbagetown.
Goodnight.