Walking in the Night

Long shadows crawl as the hours wan into night, and their darkness overcomes the world. Hear the calls on the wind; listen to the sound of the cries. There’s a madness in the air, and suffering hidden within the lighted houses. The song must be sung again, and the vision renewed. Here are the dancers, but what singer will come when every tongue is severed? What players are left to play besides these fools chained to an unchanging score? I’ve heard their music a thousand times; it is insufferable. I wish to dream again, to wake up one more time.

The night is gentle with me, and the moon, that distant and mysterious mistress hiding in the trees, I think may wink when I turn away. What light she offers in this darkness is welcome, but soon to die. I am a wanderer in this sunless world. My eyes may see where others are blind. It is come, and I must go on. There will be no more light until the dawn, save for the glittering stars. Where is she, the moon? I have lost her again. I know no more, but only wish to sleep again, escaping this dream.

His steps are often heard when the coyotes’ ghostly wails fill the darkness. Where he goes, or what he knows, he cannot tell. Though he tries, his words are madness, and his meaning lost. I walked with him till the rising sun, and only when that blinding light broke over the hill, did he finally speak. “Go on,” said he, “Go on, and live within the day.” And so he was no more at my side. I walked alone in those morning hours, through the morning fog, and I thought I heard his song repeated by a little chirping bird.