When soft night breezes call, I am ready to accept the charges. There is depth to night. There is more shadow, nothing as crisp. Daytime is harsh. Too harsh for me. I deal with it because I have to, but I only do it to limp toward darkness.
There are so many opportunities that night presents. There is everything. Unlimited potential. For good, for horror, for phantasms of paranoia and teeth-gnashed suffering. There is redemption, there is betrayal. Night is the devil's footman.
In the small hours, I can rise above the day, look down on it, map it out, see that nothing tragic happened. And sleep...thank heaven for sleep. My daughters are asleep and I am free to just be. To read or write or lay and stare at the ceiling.
The nighttime has always been magic. We can float away into the light of the night kitchen, where Maurice Sendak has already drawn the shades.