A Good and Splendid Night

computer drawing, by special permission, from the collection of Henry Hobbs.

Micah's comment about my brain prompted this post. I like my brain, too. I never know what it has stirring. I once wrote a science fiction short story for Burt Prelutsky's class called, The Night Bunch, about who was manning my brain during the wee hours of the morn. Reminiscing about that wacky crew leads to one of my favorite topics. Night. Growing up where the heat of the day effectively drained away any energy I could muster and the siesta was the highlight of an afternoon, night took on a special drama. As in fairytales, midnight was routinely the time for falling into mysticism. Most of the people around were falling into alcohol and its companionship with foolishness so I spent my time stargazing. I think I named all the stars. Of course, I didn't know what any of them were really called and I was cross-cultural in my choices. The only constellation pattern I recognized was the Southern Cross. I'm fairly sure the Little Dipper had some Aztec name and I was partial to elaborate pretend Portuguese. Like so many things where the facts have become realigned, it doesn't matter. What matters is remembering the magic of those times and hearing my mother recite:

The night has a thousand eyes.
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
.....
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of the whole life dies
When love is done.--Francis William Bourdillon (who wrote 13 volumes of poems but is remembered for this one by mainly moviegoers who saw the title in a 1948 flick starring Edward G. Robinson)
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...the blessings of the rhythm of ebb and flow, nearness and apartness, birth and death be yours....