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Night Creature by Brooke Adams

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When the shadows drop in curtains and the owls begin their nightly forage with eerily echoing calls, and the birds still and the traffic slows to a random car, the thoughts come…creeping in slowly like spidering glass. The night creatures, with their bright eyes, come to life;  embers glowing from the shrubbery.  Nature at its most active, its most alive when the day is dead. When those of us who embrace the dark don its cloak, we come to life, as well, to exist in a world of our own design.  Synapses snap and spark. Pupils dilate. Breath evens. When the day's inanities have passed away and we are most alone with our thoughts, our creativity, our passions. Darkness sooths the day-weary mind. Beauty in black. There are no old scars, only new perspectives. We tell ourselves stories, fairy tale and nightmare; just the way Grimm did. We are not the "sun" people who charge through the day in all its neon lightness. Those who waste the dim, quiet hours after darkness falls, on rest.  We are truly nocturnal, most at home when the edges melt and the colors run and the moon makes her nightly progress. Softer, blurred sounds…the owl, the wind-jostled leaves, a small twig cracking. A night train - lonely, exhilarating - wishing, for a moment,  to ride along as it passes through chaos gone to sleep.