This Hour of Calm

How sweet and soothing is this hour of calm! I thank thee night! - Lord Byron


The slow, dark hours that mark the end of each day and the beginning of the next without fanfare or distinct characteristics seem to exist for my singular partiality. The deepest realms of the day seduce me with sheltering shadowy grays and blacks dotted with ribbons of blue-white moonlight strewn randomly across floors, walls and pieces of furniture.


The purposeful hush that encircles my thoughts with a most undeserved reverence also heightens my awareness of self and place. Shed of duties and responsibilities, the core of me rises from the minutiae that every day life sometimes brings. I relax most comfortably in the embrace of the insular hours that share my prediliction for solitary reflection. Typically overpowered by the drama and beauty of sunrises and bright blue skies bathed in light, the darkest hours give up the collective cheers of theatrical spectacle and replace it with the intimacy of poetry. A venue most suitable for my taste.

The remnants of the day's activities linger in the house and I often drift in and out of rooms to savor the sweet enchantment of sleeping children. With the recent addition to our home, Craig fashioned a frame for this favored stretch of time encased in glass at the foot of our bed. I can now enjoy the scene from the warmth of comforters and coziness of pillows or, within steps, open the door and immerse myself into the picture. The night lies exposed but enclosed by the studio and wooden fence.

Not surpisingly, my favorite snowscape is a night one. The impenetrable sky, still pregnant with precipitation reflects the white of the snow back onto itself over and over like mirrors in a dressing room. The snow creates an even heavier silence in the night air absorbing all residual sounds so that the ear strains to catch the audible quality of falling snow. I'm drawn to the open air church of my own flocked backyard and the purity of snow momentarily undisturbed by footprints or snow angels. Alone, I can be totally engulfed without having to attempt to search for the words that would describe or explain the emotion of the moment.

I will surrender long before the stars and the sun will reclaim the sky long before I open my eyes. Giddy children will impatiently dress and scamper out into the undulating white landscape early in the morning. The picturesque scene, the funny lopsided snowman, the laughter resonating from the red-cheeked imps will call me to join their ranks and the present will press the night's solace into the deeper recesses of memory to allow the space for the chaotic bliss of family.