When the Night Comes

When the Night Comes

Always the same, at least at first.

The sun painting the sky as it falls. Yellow, green, orange, peach, magenta, lavender. Crickets. Frogs. Distant wheels on the highway it was too loud to hear before.

And the dread. Feeling like the day has slipped out of my grasp, wriggling impatiently as I try to hold on and stroke it to calm, hoping to soothe its restlessness and need to go. That fails.

But after the dread, trepidation, unease—the dark thickly envelops it all, real and almost tangible. Then it feel safe, calm, secure, sure.

The darkest moment returns me to center, and I can go forward again.

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