When I feel like putting on my writer's cap, it usually occurs in the morning or early afternoon. As soon as moonshine falls onto those who are living where it lands, I do other things. I pick the guitar, I talk to whoever looks like they're listening, I go to where music is playing, I exercise my thumb against a glowing screen far longer than I'd like to and I dream as we all dream of other towns and future stories. Lately though, I've been doing all of my writing at night. It hasn't been the same as writing in the day. Birds aren't chirping, the house is quiet, and the trees don't look like trees as they appear barely noticeable if not for the stream of street light. Despite all of the darkness, I am able to write poems and little pieces of prose that feel like me. I reserve the day for other things, like I used to do at night.
Tomorrow, I can walk to the hillside and from there, I can watch for baby sized dragonflies taking flight above the wheat grass or listen for crickets cooing in their own symphony. I can run home and fill a cup with apple juice or paint a sandwich with raspberry jam. This is freedom. Sometimes, we have to trade time for money in order to live, and other times, pairs who once shared a bed will find themselves sleeping alone again, but for the most part, we can take ourselves to the hillside and find a window with the sunlight pouring through.
I say this because the world can feel barren and broken sometimes. We are looking for the green hillside where our lookout leads to a meadow of people getting along. We wish to sing tiny ballads of joy without sorrow, but in our pursuits, we often forget the good ones only to remember the bad. Moving among the stars, towards the warmth of July and the ever growing garden, take a moment to think of those around you who are kind and thank them.
Now, when the daylight comes, I live and play as I did when I was young. It is summertime on the hillside and by the time a moon is showing, I'll have already filled an entire head with thoughts that soon turn into sentences. Even if nobody ever reads what I write, my short time here is made better for the writing and dissecting of my own inner world.