It is late and the softness of the night has stolen in. Few sounds tonight other than the cool breath of early spring stirring the air lightly. It is the time of day I like best. The quiet before I go to sleep. Everything slows down. Duties, errands, work and worries are put away for another night.
It’s the time I allow my fanciful thoughts to roam and dream of “what if’s” and “maybe’s.” Reflection and yes, sometimes a little melancholy seep into these gentle hours. I stand at my window overlooking the bright lights of distant London and the warm, dimly lit windows of nearby homes. Each light holds a story…a story of laughter, disappointments, tears, joy and love.
I think about what happens when those lights go on and for a moment, the person is alone and lets all the pretenses of the day slide away. What do they think about? What do they wish for? What do they yearn for?
Then my thoughts turn inward and I quietly sort out my own yearnings. There is wisdom in the darkness and in the silence. It’s there, in the remotest corners of our hearts, that quiet whisper that sets us our true path. And what it tells each of us is different.
My own desires are complex and there are no easy answers, but this time of day is not for harsh realities, it is for gentle daydreaming. And so I dream, pressing my hand lightly against the glass…wishing and waiting for the hand that will press back.