The moon was overshadowed.
I watched the water trickling wetly down the side of the wall, glistening, made into molten lava in the orange glow of the streetlamp.
The incessant whispering of the wind and the beat of the rain lulled a slumber in the quiet dark house.
I stared hypnotized as the rain seeped down the side of the wall, glinting orange.
The trees made the lamplight flicker.
Behind me, the radio softly murmured the electric guitar strains of ‘Wanted- Dead or Alive’ by Bon Jovi.
I have always loved the night.
The absolute solitude of cloudless, moonless, inky nights, with stars glinting quietly; the wild beauty of a red storm; the continuous chatter of the leaves as the wind danced through them while white clouds raced across a bright moonlit sky– all these and more have held me spell bound. The night holds me in awe; while the quiet, tired world around me breathes in repose under its shelter, I stay awake- soaking in its majesty. The night is when I am inspired to put my ‘little grey cells’ to use. That is when I study- when I come alive, when my imagination, my sleeping heart awakens and flies on Pegasus wings to heights the bustling day does not allow me to scale. The night is sublime, soft, inviting. It is where the hunter becomes the hunted and the predator, the prey. No matter of what man may boast, he still fears the night.
I do like the day. Those glorious days which are filled with sunshine, with spotless blue skies, a blue so clear and deep that it sings aloud with joy and the desire to be free– these are the days that I crave for. They make my heart restless as I look outside- at the beauty and glory of it all, and all I want to do is escape- escape into the paradise where I can soak it up, alone in solitary companionship.
But it is only such days that I love, and they make me grieve– I do not know why. I think it’s because they make me think of all those years of home, as a little child- of loving those days and sharing them with people I have now lost- who will never come back. While the day breaks my heart with its glory, the night soothes me with its majesty. At night- I am king, I belong to the night and it belongs to me. The day is never really your own- you share it with others who are bustling around, each involved in their own little universe, of glaring light which shuts out more fragile flames. But the night is universal.
I think, for me, the saddest part of a day is when the dark beauty of the night starts giving way to the cool watery hues of dawn. I no longer am one with a greater being- holder of secrets which others are blind to, at one with the grace of the night. It reminds me that I am bound, by duties which I can never let go of and which will never let go of me.
I sometimes wonder if all this is not mere romantic fantasy. And then I realize I know that of course it is so-
but that does not change the fact that I am still queen of the night.