I have always loved the small hours; the twilight time where the graveyard shift of nocturnal creatures is about to hand over the baton to the diurnal crew; The time of sparkling dewdrops where one step can send a cloud of tiny, brown bats flying all around you. It’s the time just before the birth of a new day and everything seems fresh with promise. It’s the time when moths make love to night blooming flowers and the ice plants hide their perfect petals in sleep.
There is no true darkness at 62° North this time of year, only the magical world of twilight exists where the lower latitudes have night. This suits me just fine. Soon enough the dark season will start, covering us with its inky blanket and turning us all temporarily into wide-eyed creatures of the night.
Morpheus and I have never been friends. As a child I had night terrors and recurring nightmares. I fought sleep fiercely, because it was never pleasant for me. I was a sleepwalker and would often scare my mother by appearing behind her television chair, staring blindly and unblinking at her like a ghoul. Sleep has been difficult since my surgery. I can no longer sleep in my preferred position, as I have lost a lot of range of motion in my neck. I struggle to get comfortable enough for sleep to come (I also have a tear in one of my bicep tendons that needs repairing). Last night was especially difficult. I retired early because two of my sons have been working as sherpas for fishing tours and have to get up around 5 o’clock in the morning.
Just after 11 o’clock the sound of a dog barking frantically echoed down from my neighbors who live atop the hill. Then their cow joined in, followed by the goats and ducks, until the whole barnyard was sounding off. I figured it was probably a predator. They had a bear try to get into the pig pen this week, but it got shocked by the electric fence and ran down the hill, leaving a trail of scat all the way down. We have also had a real issue with lynx in the area this year.
When all the noise subsided my pet parrot started screaming, so I had to get up to make sure nothing was amiss inside. Some times my little ones bump the knobs of the propane stove which could potentially make for one hell of a wake up call. Everything was kosher, so I began to wonder if we were due for an earthquake. It was at this point that my old friend, Anxiety, showed up and all hope of sleep was lost.
It’s a good thing I love the small hours. I don’t mind spending time with the bats and the moths. Some day I will sleep forever, so today I will just drink the nectar of night. And coffee.
