In the Dark Hours of the Night

Last night I woke up in the darkness you only find in the country. Far away from honking cars, street lamps, ambulances and the glaring lights of petrol stations. Far away from the lights that usually shimmer across the water to find their way into my bedroom.

What woke me? A strange noise.

And no matter how many times I told myself it was just the stairs/radiator/neighbour/deer getting ready for Christmas, I could not get back to sleep. Because of course noises in the night do not just go away. The more you listen for them, the louder and the more frequent they get. And the more you convince yourself that it’s not just deer roaming through the garden, it’s obviously a guy outside with a hatchet/chainsaw/collection box for Jehova’s witnesses.

So to him them know that there was someone in the house who was awake and not about to be taken by surprise, I turned the light on and read for a while. Then I read for a while longer. Then I got up, went into the living room, and started writing. In the middle of the night. I haven’t done that for almost twenty years.

When I finally went back to bed, I slept so soundly. When I woke up, I went right back to writing.

Feels so good to be me again!

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