A night walk.
Night cathedrals.
Soft rain briefly on my head, a blessing; washing my feet as I step through the grass.
Rain smell, too. The real thing.
A jumbled choir of train whistle, crickets, late night milk trucks starting on their journey, my squeaky shoes the tenor in the background.
White pops in the darkness, vestments. Or is that too much? Whites, that fade during the day, but have their time of simple glory now, against the night.
Two fingers of my right hand curl more than any on the left. I notice these things because it is dark, and that is what there is to notice.
Silence. Breath.
Small yard lights (white, light blue, warm yellow, and one set of green/red/purple, blinking in the bushes).
Porch lights, hazy basement window lights, motion sensors, sparkles in the road, factory lights, truck lights, street lights, window candles. Holding life steady until the day.
And my friends the fireflies, darting out greetings, curiosity, a game of tag.
mapping the terrain 