At night everything slows down and the world is quieter, most of the animals are sleeping, some of the flowers even close — that has to mean something.
At night, I think deeper, fuller, broader, as if I might be out there in the indigo with the stars. It’s easy to picture that. It’s hard to think of being in the open, blue daylight sky.
A wise man I know said to me that he thinks kids grow up slower where there is winter, because they need to come home to be inside and need to wear clothes to stay warm.
I think night is like that. I makes us slow down. In the dark, we walk slower. We come inside to find enough light to read by. We hear the quiet of our own thoughts.
Those are reasons I write at night and in the very early morning when the sun is rising. I can even hear the clicking of the keys as type my thoughts on my keyboard, and the sounds seems to match the beating of my heart. That has to mean something.