It is the magical land where life is perfect and so is the world. Silence, sweet silence, like new fallen snow softens the blows the day has dealt me. Little things fall and evaporate, turning smoky without no sign of flames.
The heartbeat of the world, like my own, slows. Flowers are sleeping. Roads are open. The lake is black with stillness, reflecting only the moon's coolness and a faint mist. The stars are out and watching over, with the angels, seeing to my keeping.
I know I cannot move a rock or build a building in the darkness. I can rest, unafraid that I am leaving something untended, uncared for, needing to be done. I am free.
I feel deeper, fuller, broader, as if I might be out there with the stars – my cosmic others. It's us. I can see, feel their presence, feel my thoughts beside them, my heart among them. Their soft light is a comfort as I shed the hard light day hung over me.
Night is the dark goodness. I walk slower, but angels guide me.
Night is the quiet of my own thoughts. I sleep and write in the womb of a day not born. I wait with it, hoping for my next chance to make a difference, make a change, make a life that has meaning, as my words do, meaning that reaches into my heart and out to others
Night writing is exploring, knowing, believing the possibilities that are a sunrise coming.
−me strauss Letting me be