Night.

Night holds me still, like a mother whose arms reach all they way to the sky, to the stars and beyond. Its lullaby is a cascade of silence, broken by the rippling of sheets or the rustle of branches. My thoughts are frantic, harried and loud from the chaos of the morning. They come to me in sparks, igniting and receding. Igniting and receding. But the night is a mother who has long since figured out the ways of her child, and she soothes me as my thoughts dim and I drift away....