Waiting for the Magic

Waiting For The Magic

When were we taught to be afraid of the dark?  What bedtime story told us of monsters under the bed or warned us of wraiths at the window?  Which fairy tale twisted shadows into malevolent spirits and deemed moonbeams inadequate to chase away evil? 

On these cold December nights Edward likes to spend time outside by himself.  He lays on the back porch - white fur glowing in the moonlight - and ponders the unanswerable, conversing with guardians both real and unseen.  Sometimes I bundle up and tiptoe out to join him.  A brief spin of his tale tells me he doesn't mind my presence.  We sit in the stillness as I wait for the magic the dark always brings.

  

Redesigned in grisaille the too familiar world becomes new.  The poplar trees are taller somehow, with personalities both individual and wise and I feel myself observed by round yellow eyes peering down from their uppermost limbs.  The ice-grey floor of the garden wears multicoloured  jewels casually thrown through the bedroom window by the lights of the Christmas tree.  There are sounds only heard in the darkness. Nocturnes played on leaf and claw, the distant tinkling of a bell.  

Treasures are unearthed in the darkness, flights of imagination that are grounded in the bold unyielding light of the day soar through a velvet midnight sky.  I find tranquility in the night -  there is time to sink into my true self and remember the sound of my own fanciful heart.  The peace we gather in the long winter night shall clothe us in gentleness when the sun shines again.

On this, the night of solstice, the longest of the year, do join Edward and me outside in the dark if you possibly can.  Let the quiet fold its wings all around you as you listen to the music the silence always brings.  What a gift this longest night can be.  For it is always in the darkness that the brightest stars are seen.