Sometimes at night I sit in our back yard, when the neighborhood is very quiet. If it is cool no air conditioners are roaring, and the sounds of children at play have long been translated into their deep sighs of slumber. A full moon provides simpler, more reverent light, and my cat slowly winds his way around my legs, occasionally leaning on me long enough to reassure himself that I am still there, to cater to his whims.
It is at night that things are peaceful and I forget the kind of environment I face every day, and am so unable to change. Without the heat of the sun and the frenzied pace of the day, the cooler darkness seems more serene. It helps me relive the outlook of my childhood, when I was still unaware of how harsh the world can be. I suppose it must be more than a memory, because it isn’t in my head, it’s in my heart. Perhaps that means I still retain remnants of that young girl, within me. If so, it is at times like these that I welcome her return, since she cannot show her face during most workdays.
There were times, as a child, when I would leave the house in the middle of the night, walk across a narrow country road to the corral, perch on the fence and visit with my horse. All the while I was surrounded by an entourage of cats and dogs. The animals and I discussed how I felt about things and together we contemplated a future that I naively assumed would resemble our way of life as it was then. The entire scene was always so magical that I recall it as though it were only last week, even though it has been decades and the corral, the animals and I have all been removed from the landscape.
I could not have predicted the future. It is rarely what we expect and often seems to consist of more change than is comfortable and to be a lot more complicated than is necessary. People, places and things come and go without warning, making us feel a little unstable and sometimes a little lonely, as if something is sort of, well – missing. All of our technology hasn’t helped, either, because our lives have been revved up to breakneck speed, with surround sound and 3-D visuals, to match. We can make contact with literally anyone in the world in seconds, yet lose our bearings with every click of the mouse.
When our days are going full blast, I think it is important to have an evening retreat where we can "be," instead of "do." It may be only a back stoop or an open window in the middle of the night, from which lean out and get lost in a silence that is usually in short supply. It is a place and a time to recall who we are, to regroup, and to consider why we’re here.
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