I'm not sure why I feel the need to stay up until well after the crickets have closed their minuscule little eyelids. That is, if crickets even have eyelids...
I know it's not because I feel the need to chaperon my little sister and her boyfriend as they make out in the pool right now as I write. That's completely not it.
At least, not every night...
I think it's because of a sort of nocturnal joie de vivre that can be linked to the days of lightning-bug catching and flashlight tag. Days when my parents would scoop big bowls of ice cream and take us out onto the porch during a thunderstorm to watch the lightning.
Back when I had a porch.
That's when I think.
Huge, sprawling, wandering thoughts that are far reaching and unintelligible. It's when I try to fit my life into boxes, that morph into 20 sided figures that can't quite be articulated. It's when I question everything that I know myself to be.
Who are we really in the dead of night? Certainly not
the same people we are during the day, when we're driving down the highway with the windows down, dripping in the heat because the AC doesn't work.
At night we dream metaphors and sit in a cool darkness that wraps around your eyes if the clouds happen to be covering the numberless stars.
Late at night, I believe in language. I believe in Hedonism.
It's night when I want to run through a moonlight forest in naught but a sheet, magic afoot. Nighttime is when I believe in magic.
It's daylight that brings with it the heavy humidity of a Virginia summer. Like a damper on a trumpet, your heart doesn't beat as fast and your actions more languid.
Now every day isn't like this, but tonight- that's what I feel. Tonight I'm a lyricist. Words are my pleasure.
I think I'll leave you with a completely unrelated book recommendation. Though it has nothing to do with this post- Marisha Pessl's Special Topics in Calamity Physics is a fabulous read. A great story, and thoroughly enjoyable style and syntax.