"There's no roof that has not a star above it."
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Day Is Done”

The light side of night affords delight:
Time for quietude, the din subdued;
the twilight—too swift,
too subtle to discern,
alights or lowers slow,
lengthens shadows into indigo—
stems the tide of to-and-fro;
blanket-like, soothes;
dims the worst of our sights;
causes us, world-weary, a pause,
only right;
lets the cares lapse in the blue;
chance to relax, to let go,
collapse into comfort India ink hued,
as long as it looms.

The light side of night is tonight:
balmy night, scent of candle light/
cool night by the fire light/
dispelled, the gloom
a good book/movie/music that moves;
and through the windows
milky way ware
winks a sliver of moon;
maybe a full frontal stare;
spells more than here is there
watching you,
reflecting in pools
and luminous rooms;
till lulled, silence blurs, sinks
in the sleepiness, black canopy
bedding us, battening recall,
or velvety, envelopes us,
and colors the loss opaque.

The light side of night is to like:
feels right for feeling;
right for rest; ripe for healing,
for fantasy; dining, dancing,
and romance;
for not doing—being;
for living the part—the lover, the loved—
loving, not reading and watching;
drifting off in the faith;
for asking, finding,
sage answers in dreams;
waking wiser,
refreshed for what we face.

In the dark some gaze at the ground;
others the stars,
succumb to the succor
or surrender to fears:
The choice is ours.

© Helga Ross 2003, 2007