Twas the night before Sunday and all through the house,
the only thing stirring, was the click of my mouse.
Errr yeah, a poet I am not. I shall make no pretense otherwise.
I was just about to head off to bed for the night when I took a moment to listen to the silence. I miss midnight. Or rather I miss the mystery and mysticism of the witching hour, that brief moment between one day and the next when all the world was still.
Staying up until midnight used to be a privilege coveted by all siblings. Those who managed it were envied by those who fell asleep and didn’t make it. Midnight used to be special and now it’s either a signal that we should be heading home soon or a realization that dang I’m going to be tired tomorrow.
As I sit here in my silent house and listen to the creaks and groans as even the timbers settle in for the night, I’m reminded how much I love midnight, the hour of quiet and peace.
On that note I leave you to toddle off to my bed and let the magic of the moment lull me to sleep.
Goodnight All