And now of a quiet evening as the sun gently sets,
its playful rays, like cheeky children avoiding sleep,
sneak through the leaves hanging listless in the trees
glistening around the rim, blowing bubbles in my rum,
tracing tickling one another to silent happy giggles,
while I wander through the myriad thoughts they evoke
with their hopeful dashing and dancing here and there,
shimmering, suggestive, hanging from tender webs,
growing ever more languid as the light diminishes
behind hills and stones and all the opacity of life.
As darkness descends I strain to see and wonder
at the world that was, how woven in transparency,
which is at once enlightening and all too illusory,
and I realize there is a reason why we have evolved
to fear the darkness of the night—to fear its mystery.
The mind depends upon the banal, the utterly predictable.
Light engenders safety, order begets peace, security,
and yet that same mind thrives on mystery and imaginings.
In the light, the mind becomes ever more complacent, lazy.
Give me the night, the darkness, the unquiet mystery.
And one more dram to enliven the dance.