Late at Night

Silence finally falls. The dove gray skies lit by only a sliver, like a cutaway crescent that promises an endless expanse of light behind...

The witching hour smiles her long white whip of a smile, snakes her sinuous arm around the slumped shoulders of repose.

There are peepers, dancing in the cracks and crevices outside. They are invisible, little froglets lighting up the silence with their bright, adorable little songs.

Somewhere, there are wars and negotiations. Somewhere, there are funerals and fires.

Somewhere, someone is doing something for the first time. Someone else is doing something for the last time.

Everywhere, everyone's life is changing forever.

Maybe that is why we all keep our eyes open, why we still listen, why we let dreams find us, and why we wake and do it all over again.

It is a blessing, to have a moment, to bear witness to all this beauty.