nothing is dull

Driving up a hill, the sun of fire behind. I stare in my rear view mirror until I can no longer see. I look ahead so I can drive, and catch a glimpse of the electric poles that now look like the House of Parliament. Descending the hill, I mistakenly think that the sun has set. All the while Thelonious Monk is playing softly in the background, persuading me to feel for a moment. Is that smog? No. No, now it is mystical haze that envelopes the perception of a city and still participates as one of its members. I almost want to ask it what it's thinking about. Who could call this mundane? Me, only yesterday.