Journal entry

The hands on the clock point to twenty minutes past four in the morning. Other than the ticking of the clock and the howling of the wind slapping the rain against the windows, there are no sounds. The house continues to guard her secrets.

The climate has been moderate these past few days, in that we’ve not seen any more snow or the blustery cutting cold that comes along with it. Comfort that now lies in days of rain and wind and a coolness in the air that requires the donning of a light jacket or sweater still keeps us indoors, however.

We are in the twilight. In between the cold and the warm where stunted gray days attempt to conciliate the long black nights. We have our dinners early as the darkness fools us into thinking it is later than it is. And because the day’s chores have been completed prematurely, certainly not by the hands on the clock but by the dictating of the dark hues in the sky, we are tricked into greeting the Sandman sooner than we would otherwise desire.

This is the why of it. Why the porch lights are turned on by the sweep of 5pm; why businesses lock their doors and darken their stoops at the sound of the 7pm sirens‘ song; why the streets are empty and silent before the striking of the toll that chimes nine; and why, regrettably, we hustle-up a new day before it is time to do so.

Nature plays her games with us this time of year

and creates havoc that seems to amuse and cajole her.

I’m glad we can be of such an obliging service.

~