Night, the beloved.
Night, when words fade and things come alive.
When the destructive analysis of day is done,
and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again.
When man reassembles his fragmentary self
and grows with the calm of a tree.
~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
The air was crisp and cool; day’s light had just slipped away. Wet blades of grass sparkled in a kind of diamond-dusted majesty under the glow of a rising harvest moon. As if to punctuate my scattered thoughts, tiny aircraft lights glided from time to time through the darkening indigo sky. When I began glancing around the yard, the images that confronted me seemed to be popping up like photos in a slowly advancing slide show. The first one I saw was of the red turk’s caps underneath the rose arch, then the white moonflowers on the neighbor’s fence, fattening seed pods under the oak, a Celtic cross, a flying moth, an intermittently shrouded moon. The spell was broken only for a short while when the fragrance from my potted herbs temporarily seduced my nose. Then the slide show started up again with a flash of yellow and white lights, followed by a rustling noise, leafy branches hanging low, a sculpted monk, stone rabbits, and a fleeting little lizard. Music in the distance floated down the alley, and when I turned to follow the sound, I was startled by ghostly shadows dancing on the shed in the deepening darkness. However the fear was fleeting and not enough to alleviate my growing sleepiness. It wasn’t until water tapped noisily in the nearly drained fountain and a pair of feral cats came meowing at my feet that I was jolted out of my reverie. And it had been such a lovely respite for a weary soul, always is when under the holy hosts of heaven that light the night.
And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and year… ~Genesis 1:14 ✝