A Still Place
I like the black of night. The dark. Especially around the house. It’s comforting to step out onto the porch and see what only the light from the moon and the stars allows me to see. I feel one with the natural world. There's the wind and the leaves and rustling grasses. I see the movements in the shadows, hear the rhythmic noise of walking, especially the deer.
The trees we planted on arrival have grown considerably and now block most of the light that once flowed into our yard from the convenience store down the street and across the highway. They’ve helped reduce the noise, too, an extra benefit to be sure. Even the mercury vapor light that once illuminated a neighbors yard across the big pasture is gone. That treeline all the way to the hills beyond is dark.
I have no idea when or how I became such a fan of the night, maybe because it’s the dark that lets me see the stars. Or I feel a kinship with the vulnerable, the small animals, feeding under the cover of darkness to avoid predators. Or, I get to use my ears to see. All I know is this, the dark is a refuge, a place to slow one’s breathing, a place of silence, a still place where light and the world come to those who wait and watch.