#nightwalking

The other day I couldn’t sleep; I had been tossing and turning for hours; I saw no respite if I stayed in bed. So I put on shoes, a beanie, and a sweater over my pyjamas; I grabbed a flashlight and my keys; and I went out. The night was not dark. It was certainly the opposite; I had been awake long enough in the dark to be acclimated to it, and the moon was almost full in a cloudless sky. A blinding light, I’d say. I saw few stars. But the roads were brightly lit under that cool white light. The shadows were deeper, and the colours were all washed out to a mix of greys and blues and lavenders. I was the only human soul awake, or at least the only one out and about at that hour. By the old lavoir a bird was calling, as if tricked into waking by the fullness of the moon. It still felt like I owned the world. My footsteps were the loudest sounds, except when I crossed over the streams. Their quiet gurgling were more of a song in the privacy of the darkness. A show for just one woman. The bells rang three, and three again, and I turned back. I sleep too well here, and I almost regret it. I’d walk the night more often, like the gift it is.