Walking In the Night

Lately I have been taking some walks at 6:30pm, which is fully dark in this art of the timezone. Usually I tell Kala we can only walk to the Temple and back on the road since it is dark and not risk going into the meadow. 

Last night I went ahead into the meadow, relying on years of playing outside in the dark, camping in the dark, exploring nature in the dark, and so much more. 

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I realized how many awe-inspiring experiences I have had when daylight segues into night so that eyes adjust and hearing and feet become much more attentive. I recalled walking along Manitou Beach with Brian in the complete dark. So dark that when I lost my boot in the sucking mud of the salt flats, we couldn't see it to find it. 

​On that walk I heard a rasping sound, like someone shoveling wet gravel. Brian and I listened intently, peering into Puget Sound, trying to see. Then a dark shape moved slowly by - and we realized it was the breathing of a seal. 

Other delightful memories came up - playing hide and seek and capture the flag on dark summer nights and fox and goose in the winter when the snow's reflection made it as bright as day. Helping Ralph Ramey prepare a moth station in the Pine Forest so we could see huge Luna and Polyphemus moths in their natural setting. Ice skating at night on Michigan lakes with only the glow of the ice, snow and moon. Sledding at night at the Hastings Country Club. Watching hundreds of salamanders mate at night in vernal ponds on the first stormy night of spring (meaning it was still the coldest night I was ever in water). 

Last night as I gazed up at the stars and thought I could still see Jupiter and Saturn in conjunction - I realized Orion's Belt had six stars instead of three. The seven sisters had become fourteen. Everything had doubled and was glittering. My glasses would have sharpened my vision but there was a velvety softness to the night that everyone should get to experience. Without fear. With Love.