Dusk

This is a story I told Amelia as she drank her bottle of warm milk just before she went to bed.

This is the quiet time.

All day the people have been pulling strands and strings, guiding their day this way and that. They make each day their own, not controlling, but influencing the day with their pulls. Some grab on to as much as they can and pull as hard as they can. Others find single strands and give light tugs.

But at the end of the day, the smart ones let go.

And as they let go, the day begins to unravel. The strands twist and wriggle free and the tapestry of the day falls apart. And as it does, the light gives way to dark, the blue gives way to black, the sun gives way to the moon, and the sky gives way to the stars.

This is the quiet time.

The air is heavier here in the quiet time, for it is filled with dreams. Breath in deeply, inhale the dreams. Take them into you and let them course through your veins. Milk feeds the body, but dreams feed the soul.

This is the quiet time. Let go of the day, breath in the night, and sleep tight.