Like a threatened trouble, the sound comes nearer, piercingly near; then it dies out in a mangled silence, complaining to the last.
The sleepers stir in their beds.

Somebody sighs, and the burden of all his trouble falls upon my heart.

A homeless cat cries in the alley, in the voice of a human child.

And the ticking of the kitchen clock is the voice of my troubled thoughts.
Many things are revealed to me as I sit and watch the world asleep.
But the silence asks me many questions that I cannot answer; and I am glad when the tide of sound begins to return, by little and little, and I welcome the clatter of tin cans that announces the milkman.

I cannot see him in the dusk, but I know his wholesome face has no problem in it.
It is one flight up to the roof; it is a leap of the soul to the sunrise.