The sun dropped below the horizon, in a city still sweltering with spring heat. The streets were deserted, a low buzz could be heard in the downtown air, the sounds of faraway traffic diminishing even further into the distance.
The city of Phoenix sprawls over five-hundred square miles, supporting 1.5 million people, though tonight, one could scarce tell that more than a handful lived here. But live here they must, for Skyscrapers, meager in comparison to those of other cities, grace downtown and midtown with a subdued sense of beauty. They rise above the single story homes roofed with tile that spread across the valley, as shining icicles in the bland heart of a desert.
They might be beautiful to you, as they are to me, but they mean something more than that. They symbolize the incredible power of the human mind - the ability to shape our environment into one that is not only survivable, but into one in which we can thrive. Here, in the flaming deserts of Arizona, we no longer cringe in the heat and pray we'll find water before we die of dehydration. Instead, we build skyscrapers and pools, hospitals and bars, homes and golf courses.
Standing here, atop an empty parking garage next to an empty baseball stadium, surrounded by the sounds of a city slowly preparing for another Monday morning, I bask in the glory of the human mind.
It never ceases to amaze.