Sacred

The sound of sleepless crickets and indigo winds and fast cars in the deep distance seep through my open window as I lie awake, wrapped in my blankets. What a fitting contrast: the assorted sounds of the outside world and the internal ponderings of my mind, both occurring simultaneously, amongst the late darks and the shadows of my bedroom. I realize there's a certain freedom on these rare nights when I cannot sleep. A freedom to nightdream, to plan, to cry, and to imagine. These sleepless nights are mysteriously sacred.