The stillness of the night beckons to me. I don't know but there has always been something about the dead of the night that appeals to me. Maybe it's because there is a certain surge of power in knowing that while the world is resting, I am the solitary moving figure unclaimed by sleep's spell.
I also love being alone with my thoughts and most of my thought-provoking questions and answers come at night, sometimes unbidden. It is as if it is at this time that I am at my most aware, vulnerable even. Some thoughts sometimes scare me. Other times they bring elation. Still at times they veer crazily to hilarity. Or insanity.
The night is quiet and it is in this silence that my heart and mind find their refuge. In the serenity of the night is the blanket that warms and soothes me as I lie awake.
Sometimes too, I wear the darkness of the night as my cloak and prowl the streets. The wind will whip my hair and the breeze will gently caress my face. And a myriad of thoughts will still come of course.
The night is still but I am not.
I also love being alone with my thoughts and most of my thought-provoking questions and answers come at night, sometimes unbidden. It is as if it is at this time that I am at my most aware, vulnerable even. Some thoughts sometimes scare me. Other times they bring elation. Still at times they veer crazily to hilarity. Or insanity.
The night is quiet and it is in this silence that my heart and mind find their refuge. In the serenity of the night is the blanket that warms and soothes me as I lie awake.
Sometimes too, I wear the darkness of the night as my cloak and prowl the streets. The wind will whip my hair and the breeze will gently caress my face. And a myriad of thoughts will still come of course.
The night is still but I am not.
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