The Quiet Hours
There is magic to be found in the quiet hours.
New perspective to be found in the light of an early morning sun or a midnight
street light.
To wander the streets of a summer tourist town in autumn,
when crowds have passed and streets and stores are stripped to their essentials.
To speak with the store owners and waitresses who now have time to
reveal themselves.
Like actors with their makeup removed.
To enter a theater and be allowed to walk upon the stage,
to walk upon the field of play
to get a sense of what the actor and athletes feels.
When the spectacle has receded, the sublime emerges.
When the excess has been sloughed off, the essence is revealed.
The fleeting fireworks display extinguished, the enduring stars regain their
rightful prominence.
We no longer view the world, we feel it.
We are no longer walk through life, we become part of it.
We become aware of the firmament upon which all else rests.
Become attuned to deeper senses than sight and sound.
It is the ebb-tide, the slow exhalation.
It is when the moonlight and the introvert at last announce themselves.
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