And all of a sudden, darkness falls. The pitch black creeps over the fields like a blanket, smoothing, silently covering dewdrops in an inky shroud.
The darkness is absolute. It cocoons me and I breathe the comfort of it deep into my lungs. It wraps around us all, a velvety void, bringing silence, stillness, calm.
I am used to the orange-tinted perma-twilight of the overpopulated north, where one or two stars strain to shine, where sirens wail, traffic continues to drone on, streetlights laugh as their harsh light spreads on into the night. There is never a stop, never a breath, save for the odd moment snatched between 3 and 4 am, where the evening seems to end and grab a quick pause before the morning begins once more.
This is something more, an echo of that healing time before light and technology and busyness took over, hollering that brash message of more, more, more.
Pinpricks of light appear shyly, one by one, faint, gentle light glittering, reflected in the galaxies of my irises. Wondering, I look to them, pupils and mind wide. The haunting call of an owl flutes in the distance and I stare out, blindly, into the blackness.