Late at night when the lights of the city reflect orange off the clouds, the wet pavement glistens like fire.
The rain has washed away the impurities of city life and it is as though my passing there is the first passing on the virgin pavement.
The silence on these nights is deafening. The clouds have let their rain fall, and now they insulate this glistening world.
The leaves lie thick and wet in the gutters and the night becomes a cocoon, insulating me and all others from the realness of the city in daytime.
The spell is brief.
As we all crawl off to our beds, the night wears on and the day wipes away the magic of what came before.
Luckily, however, the nights are long and it rains a lot in Berlin.