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Deep, dark, and full of dread is how the night is often described. Baleful with many a woe, a time when evil plots are planned, and foul deeds are afoot. Indeed for countless many the night is dangerous and tinged with uncertainty. Yet the night is also peaceful calm, and full of hope. When the heavens are brimming with stars, and the moon glows with its steady shine, onlookers’ eyes fill with light and wonder.
The night means something different to each person. To some the night means fear and uncertainty, nightmares waking and sleeping. But to me the night is a warm blanket pulled tight as I drift to sleep, telling myself a dream. The night is family, circled round the campfire roasting marshmallows, laughing, and talking. The night is welcoming; all who enter the circle are family, “come sit down and share your tale.” The night is beckoning silence, accepting, if I can learn to be quiet, staring at the fire while it dances, or at the stars whilst their eyes bore into mine, looking for constellations or just looking … no words can say so much. The night is the sound of fire crackling, the chirping of crickets, the croon of the nightingale, and the cry of the coyote. The night is listening to the sweet susurrus of the night’s soft song. The night is feeling the chill settle into my bones, knowing I should go inside but not quite able to. The night is lingering with family and friends, before goodbyes are said and long after they should have been. The night is the face of the pale moon grinning down on me placid and caring.
Yet under the same moon terrible happenings are wrought, and the night fills up again with fear. No longer is it the place of pure imagination, of family, and life. The night has become a time of doubt. When it becomes necessary to look over the shoulder, to make sure there is no danger … when every noise is suspicious and every stranger is a suspect. No one is safe and no one is free from guilt. Silence is heavy and uncomfortable. Monsters rule the night, patrol, and raid. The fear and the stench of death roam the streets. The bitter cold brings misery to the abandoned. All are lost and searching for the light of dawn.
What view is true? How can the night be defined with words? That would take an eternity or a second. When wrapped in the night’s black blanket, several emotions run peace, fear, love, hate. No one is safe, and all are welcome. In the night no one can hide, for all are covered, real personalities are revealed, and the truth is always there but sometimes partially optional. The night is of all, woven into a complex tapestry in which we can see a bit of ourselves. There are numerous shades of the night. Some roam in shadows, some dance in the light of the moon.