Saturday, November 5, 2011

a time for unicorns

As dawn reaches up across the sky, I find myself thinking about the night. Is it true or is it just my imagination that, come nightfall, there is waning of the clutching activities of the day and that things held at a distance draw closer with the quietly precise gait of white-tailed deer? There they are, across some darkening field, standing at the forest edge, waiting for the jostling to subside, edging into an open time when lusts and limits subside.

Do people allow themselves a wider time when darkness falls? Wider and, for the curse-the-dark crowd, more free and wonderful and dangerous? Does the literal darkness invite what is hidden and shy to come out and be recognized? It would be easy to digress into sex and violence -- the animal freedoms of the night. But the night seems to loose not just the obvious edgelessness held tightly at bay during the light, but the lesser twinkling lights as well ... the unicorns of the mind, peeking out with a shy power from beyond some distant oak.

A time to dream and think unbound dreams and thoughts. A time to let the whispers be heard ... wondrous or wracking, no difference. The darkness makes room for the longings so energetically corralled in the sunshine. It is as if night unfolded the arms we have so carefully folded against our chests. There is no stopping it since sleep is on the horizon and dreams will have their say soon enough ... edging out from between the half-seen trees, to romp or frolic or whisper or scare the shit out of us. Do they get lonely during the day, those random, ranging, wonderful bits of easy-ness? Who will care for them if we do not?

Perhaps the night is the gateway to a brighter day ... much as a brighter day is gateway to a darker night. Day or night doesn't matter so much, but bringing these wispy, wondrous unicorns into the light ... how could anyone be at peace without welcoming what is hidden and shy?

Perhaps it is the wispy stuff, the whispered wispy stuff, the tender and untutored stuff, that really counts in the end. Maybe it would be nice to walk down Main Street, greeting friends and neighbors and enemies alike ... "Good morning. What a nice day. Oh this? This is my unicorn. We both need our exercise."


  1. I've heard that unicorns poop butterfly's, so the equine sized scoop shovel and wheel barrow wouldn't have to join your parade.