The night

It's the night. I'm in love with the beauty of the night. Lacework of a thousand Shadows, deep silhouettes against the sky; the color is not gone, it's just receded into enriched points, gathered itself like jewels in the darkness. When the wind blows, and the tops of the trees, and the tops of the trees are alive, are dancing and singing in the voices of trees, joy in living, rooted in the great struggle to survive.
It's not the bars and the cars and the neon lights, it's the softness of the dark, shy and sweet and...dangerous? Not the right word, not shrieking nor fear. But the light gathers in pools for a reason, because out there is wildness; the king is asleep, safely ensconced in a chamber of solitude, and hence the wildness emerges into the living world.
It is not that I dislike or fear the sun. Warmth, light, the glory of sunrise and the sunset grace with which the sun says goodbye, bows down. The shade beneath trees on a hot day, long and lazy. These are all gifts, the sun is the great life-giver.
But the night and I are kindred spirits.
full of secrets waiting to be found.
the night is lovely, and my soul rises to meet her forlorn majesty;
the night waits, and spins her dark secret fantasies: ghost flowers and
memories in the gardens of forgotten dream.