17 June 2013.
I am sitting by the window, clothed in half-light. There is silence all around, not even a blade of grass is moving out of its place. The sky is turning darker by the minute and the heater is bringing warmth amidst the cool night. With my feet curled up beneath me and my nose stuck in a book, I have lost track of time.
That is, until my eyes begin to squint in an effort to find adequate light. Following the words on the page is a task to the eyes and so the book is kept aside. What stretches in front of me now is the fading sunlight, the smoke from a neighbouring house marring the picture and a backdrop provided by a silhouette of trees.
I’m not a day person. I have always favoured the night.
From staying up well past midnight as a baby till studying into the wee hours, the night has always been a friend. When the world stops defining me and dreams come alive. When every rustle outside the window seems a friendly whisper and every creak in the house sounds like a rusty laugh. It is a time when I wake up; to my inner self, to my ultimate concentration and to the endless possibilities that imagination brings with it.
As the moon rises up, having switched duties with the sun, the darkness embraces me. It lures me, it fascinates me. My thoughts flutter into life and I spend so many happy moments weaving them together; transforming them into words; building a picture. It is a time when the impossible seems possible. When every single dream seems a definite reality…
Yes I love the night. Broad daylight makes me conscious but the night illuminates me.
It lets me be.