Night air feels different. Alive with potential, still with meaning, it wraps around me like a shawl as I sit on a cool deck chair. Fireflies, stars, and the sickle moon draw my gaze, each hard to look away from, but, even so, my restless mind drives my eyes from scene to scene and back again, not pausing long enough to dwell on any one sight.
Still, the night draws me in. The stars, so far away, speak of immensity and power that inspire awe, causing me to pause in spite of my thoughts. The moon shines through the tall pines with a warm light, brightening the sky and making me smile. How could one not smile while looking at the moon? And fireflies-- they dance over the stream and in the woods, each making a statement-- a tiny statement, but one that fills me with wonder.
Something inside my chest softens, my shoulders drop, my jaw relaxes. Whirling thoughts and tensions slow a bit, then settle into a peaceful, quiet hum. They become a chapter in a book—-the pages of today; and now I’m ready to close my book until tomorrow, with the words of the night air still in my mind.