Tuesday

Goodnight Moon




The head of our bed fits perfectly in the bay window and I'm lying on my belly looking out at the night. The windows on each side of me are open and the breeze is cool and refreshing on my face, reminding me that summer is almost over. 
I close my eyes to inhale a deep breath of the fresh air and I feel as though I am outside, unprotected by these four walls. The hair on my arms stand with a chill as I feel a sense of vulnerability and fear. Fear that maybe I am too close, too exposed to what may be lurking beyond the treeline.
Only one large pane of glass and two window screens separate me from the wild animals that often keep us up at night with their howls.
Then suddenly my warmth returns with a sense of calm. I am safe here. I am safe with him.
To my right he is sleeping, completely unaware that I am beside him awake. His chest rises and falls, rises and falls, and I take a second to thank God for him.
The mattress supports our bodies as they sink deeper and deeper and the covers are weightless but warm, softly shielding us from the cool September night.
There isn't a cloud in sight.
The sky is an odd, unfamiliar shade of blue. It's bright despite the time of night, and the stars are sparkling like diamonds as far as the eye can see.
The light of the Harvest moon brightens the long dirt road below that would otherwise be dark and uninviting, but there are no cars to travel it anymore tonight. It's too late. I am the only one awake.
The trees are still as the breeze is so gentle it can't shake them.
The rolling hills in the distance are black and look like perfectly painted silhouettes on a blue canvas.
There isn't a noise to be heard, not a peep, not a squeak or a howl. It's like we're the only ones left on this earth, and I'm not at all afraid.
I am ready to close my eyes and dream.


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