i love night. the solitude. the shadow play made by artificial light. the isolation [relative but still intense, for who else would be up at 2:00 a..m. for no other reason then to read and write]. the sounds as cars doppler past on the distant freeway. the settling of the house as it too seems to go to sleep and tosses and turns.

i am a night owl. it runs in the family. i recall my father also up very late, either watching tv or reading. he is still at it. so am i. i get charged by night. recently i was on the road home at 2:00 a.m. i tried writing a poem about it but didn't like how it was going. so i stopped at a very rough draft. i wanted to capture the feeling of exhilaration of driving a major thruway at 2:00 a.m. as i pass caltrans workers who do their jobs at night because of fewer cars. no one else save the distant lone driver as we pass, each heading to our particular and unique destinations.

night is a dream state made conscious. night solidifies emptiness. at this moment it is midnight and i am sitting beneath an open window. the weather is cool with a brisk breeze. it is just a taste of fall and cool enough to need a heavy blanket for sleeping. i can hear the occasional car and police and fire siren on nearby city streets. i can hear our fountain in its gentle plashing. it would seem i am the last person on earth. if only for a few moments. if only there was this increase in peace.