|
The era of the night has come, the moon chased gracefully from places woebegone and unknown from the Dark Goddess herself, and so it hangs, round and full, near the horizon, lingering ungratefully at the goddess strains eloquently at its heavy whiteness so unwilling. Even as she does, the goddess shakes her mane, and from it comes flying glistening stars the soar and streak up in the sky, comforting sentries on a dark night in the desert wide. The Sun God, too, is unwilling, lingering sadly as he watches his reign come to end with Tallsun, and I can almost envision the tightening of his golden lips in disapproval as the fair lady of the night rises to the midst of her glory, slowly but surely. Yes, it is so bitterly cold during the winter, the wind always biting at your ears and your nose and all your tender little pieces of skin, but it is wonderful, for the nights are long and gloriously beautiful. But at long last the sun's goodnight kiss is good, and the shimmering yellow rim on the horizon is replaced by deep indigo velvet.
I, with my veneer of stars and silk night skies, am but a ghost in the wind as I take off, my wings stroking downwards mightily, stirring sand and sending murmuring dust devils up. Up I streak, and I smile gently, filled with a deep sense of contentment as I soar. Nothing compares to this, the glow of stars and the light of the moon bathing my ebony skin, so endlessly soothing compared to the blistering, dry heat of day that cracks and hardens the dusty red earth below. Even as I glide upwards, hardly beating my wings, I admire the earth below, so different under the shadows of night than the searing brightness of day. Everywhere I look, everywhere I turn, there are glittering stars, thick and common as grass on the earth, and again I feel elated with joy. Never does this grow old. I look forward to this, every day I wait so patiently for when words become trivial and unwonted. Still I listen, still I help, for I care; but sometimes I want to run from the desert days and into the long beautiful nights.
Really I do wonder why the night is so much more soft, and it embraces me with the love of a mother, rather than the day. My hours are odd and twisted, mangled and long, because of my enjoying of it. But it is me, the night. Quiet and gentle, peaceful and welcoming and kind, I think. I think. Here I am alone, and I soar without pressing matters on my mind. A midnight flight is not comparable to sharing the skies with others. Do not mistake me! I enjoy the company of others, most certainly, but sometimes I feel I struggle ever so slightly, for lack of a better word. I am introverted, and quiet, but not shy perhaps. Horses think me uncaring for this reason- they see my face, think it impassionable and unloving, when I am just the opposite. Why is it that extroverts create so much of the society? How is it that us introverts become wallflowers so frequently, or are mistaken for depressed or even angry equines?
But no, I do not blame them. I will just try to make them see the errors of their ways one day, show them a smile works just as well as a sentence. Maybe. How does one explain such a thing to one who does not quite fade into the background the same way?
All of this I soon forget as I fly, and enjoy the thump of my heart and the beat of my wings, and the kisses the stars deliver as I soar.
For here is my domain, and nothing disrupts my peace.
| |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
