Late

It's 2:30 in the morning, and I'm sitting in the living room watching a TV movie with the sound off. And that's fine. The movie is in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish, so the absence of sound makes the movie more interesting than I think it actually is.

I'm beginning to think I like 2:30 in the morning. It's quiet. It's not silent - that is, it's not desert at night silent, when your own heartbeat becomes audible. But it's quiet.

I can hear rain tap dancing across the roof. Hmmm. Must be a production number. A tree has reached out to brush just the tips of branches against my window - a lovers caress.

Ever notice that a Hostess cupcake tastes so much sweeter at 2:30 in the morning than it does at 2:30 in the afternoon? No? Try it some time.

SomewhereI can hear a clock ticking. Curious. Tomorrow - if I think of it, I'll investigate. I don't remember placing a clock in that direction. From a great distance I can hear a car passing along an empty street What is a lone car doing out this late at night? How empty is that sound.

I have this strong urge to take a walk around the block - to absorbe the nothing that is everything. To leave a vacum behind me, because there's nothing in any great hurry to fill it up. I have the urge to do that - I really do. But my shoes are upstairs, and my dog's idea of "fetch" is to shove his (empty) food dish into the middle of the kitchen floor. So there you go. Another golden opportunity lost.

I feel better now - think I can sleep. Thanks for staying up with me.