Aside from those few times, day has been reduced to glimpses of a flaming corona encroaching upon the everlasting midnight. The sun has become a rude dream.
Of course, this affects me. I feel much quieter. I am always listening. I can discard the constructed Self into a corner where it is forgotten, blending with the pools of shadow. The raw Me ventures out among the whispers, brave enough to explore a twilight world.
As the people around me settle into slumber, an entire existence is left unclaimed, like an unwanted plaything. The night is like chocolate—the darker it is, the less takers there are. But there are still plenty of takers. Quiet is not lonely.
The past few months have been busy as our lives morph into something new, but I find myself just about ready to come back. Tomorrow I head off to Borderlands Bootcamp and a visit with my first daughter and the grand kids. I’ll return home to an empty schedule.
An empty schedule is a blank page, and I look forward to less frenetic activity and a deep sinking into work. If the day is a rude dream, the long night has become a vivid reality colored pale—a backdrop for an inner world to spill out.