There’s something about nighttime that I love. Everything is still and quiet. Each tiny little noise is magnified and you have to move slowly and purposefully. Outside the night air is just as peaceful, but cooler, refreshing. Animals are out, warily scampering across the grass, eyeing you as you pass. Inside everything is calm and quiet. Everyone else is asleep and a deep quiet descends on everything. It’s tranquil. I could almost sit on the couch for hours and enjoy it.
I can’t help but wonder what happened to the days of long ago when nighttime meant sinister shadows and creepy shapes. I used to think a monster lived in my Dad’s bathroom. My bedroom was across from my parents, and when I crossed the threshold into my room I could see the darkness that was my Dad’s bathroom out of the corner of my eye. I always dove for my bed so the monster wouldn’t get me. If I made it to my bed before he got me I’d be safe. Once I was in my bed I couldn’t see the bathroom anymore, and it was okay. Sometimes I’d march right into my parents’ room and turn the light on in my Dad’s bathroom. The monster never liked that, but then I didn’t have to worry about him.
But no for some reason those thoughts never come. I’ve embraced the darkness. I’ve realized its peacefulness, and I bask in the quiet. I can’t help but wonder what that says about me.