peevish mama

Is it me or does the dark just seem darker this year? Every night, it takes me by surprise, like a hooded figure, suddenly appearing from behind a shadowy corner. It is sudden and it is unequivocal. Ink deep and solid to the touch, night means business. It comes upon us like a blind fold. Like a cast iron skillet to the head. Where is the soft retreat, the fade out, the gloaming? Where are the moments when everything shimmers, suspended between tangible and intangible, between being here and being gone? Where is the glow that melts over the hills and the rocks, allowing you to believe, for a second, that there is warmth and potential for motion in those seemingly immutable forms. It could be me. Or it could be the dark. But it just seems darker.