Afternine

Dark covers everything, and hides the bruises of the day.  We flop to sleep, to temporarily forget the unsolved and allow the body to restore used energies.   Muscles that bore a load during the day have sustained thousands of tiny tears; the healing process fills in these microscopic crevices and builds resilient tone.  We get strong enough to move forward again, as the sunrise commences in gold and rose regalia.

But for now, lay quiet under the tiny stars that spin through the eventide, they weave a tale of creation, and have witnessed the chronology of the beginning.  When we are capable, perhaps we will recapture the emitted light of a thousand years, and watch time crumple from trilobite to sauropod to first barking human.  There are about 200 billion stars in our galaxy alone, and in the first Hubble Deep Field Image there are 3,000 galaxies visible.  Perhaps among them is a solar system where Quaggas still bray in deserts and Thylacines pounce, where dodos waddle or you can get a cuppa coffee for ten cents.  Double cream, hold the extinction.

The sky roils like the waves do in the ocean, it just moves so slowly from our viewpoint that we hardly notice what's going on unless we become astronomers.  There are a few planetariums in the area, you should go just to see a perfunctory introduction to the possibilities surrounding us, the noisy little planet that thinks it's king of the hill.  Or better, and if you can, make friends with a telescope.  Not only will you see things unknown, but you'll be outside in the lovely dark with others interested in looking up.

Sleep now and peaceful.  Say thank you for the day and return to the deepest part of the circadian cycle, where dream dogs run over cool grass and stars twinkle in glimmering orchestra.  Sleep whole, descend into the depths where you know your earliest, first name and who told it to you.  Rest under the vibrant stars.  Good night.