Night Creatures (iii)

When the streetlights bloomed we saw that the darkness had swallowed every trace of the sun. The lamps made sharp and jagged-deep shadows with their soft, gold light; it seemed to fit against the world in plates or shards like broken glass, and all else was made darker because of it.

That night the moon was a hooked crescent as thin as a wire. Stars were scarce. This dark world was silent in a way that stupefied us, that made us feel that we were the only creatures alive, for there was no one else about. It felt that it belonged only to us. A land of our own, huge and strange and full of dark and hidden wonders.

So we began to explore, to claim this kingdom for ourselves. We stole away from the flat strange pools of light, plunging into the fullness of the belly of the night. The grass between our toes was turning cool and washed our skin as if it were water. With faltering steps we navigated the woods and fields that waited in silence for our breathless and hesitant laughter. We called to each other:

                                                             Marco

                              Polo

as if the darkness might swallow us, too. 

But before long our footfalls were thunder in the forests and plains of this new and dazzling dark domain. Emboldened with every minute that marched past we dove headlong into the shadows and found such splendid things: fat fireflies drifting in the air as if strung like balloons; there were mirror bright eyes in trees and bushes, and ghostly wings and claws that passed overhead, nearly noiseless; even our own bodies were unfamiliar tools with navy skin all speckled with starlight. 

Drunk on darkness we stayed out all night, until, shaken and hollow, we teetered on exhausted legs to our beds, and as the light broke we embraced the familiar obscurity of sleep.

Night Creatures