This is an entry from my current period of daily writing, ten days in. I’ve transcribed this directly as I wrote it, omitting only crossed/scribbled out words (I’ve uploaded a pic of the original, hand-written entry to illustrate this).
[2019-03-10—23:02]
Evening has always brought a solemnity to my thoughts, a slowing and inward-turning reflex that probably has as much to do with external changes as it does with internal, circadian tempo. At night, most of the world around me becomes fainter, less distinct, while other elements leap out in clarity amid the lessened light. It begins with evening and the setting sun, where lengthening shadows mark contours and obscure faces, sometimes highlighting the features of volumes of land- and city-scape in the reaching dark. The horizon, too, transforms, losing much of its vagueness in the ephemeral contrasts playing about its silhouette. Indeed, in some places on some days it can be difficult to say where the curve of the horizon truly lies, except with a vaguely waved, “Over there.” The fall of the sun, and often temporally quixotic rise of the moon, mark it in illusive clarity for us each day—giving apparent bounds to that which is truly boundless, as none who have chased the horizon have ever caught it. From twilight to the full descent of night comes the lights inherent to the artificial landscapes of man, drowning out the native lights of the firmament of God, at times and in places. For many of those for whom God is strange, He might be less so if they were to see the night sky in its original splendor, noctilucent heaven smiling down on them. These views of night are less and more at once, so it is no surprise that my inward perception alters in sympathetic simultaneity withal. I can’t say that I seek out equivalent features in mirrored perception, yet I do examine the shadows of thoughts and actions which the light of day left on heart and mind. And at the cool end of the day – betimes yearning for, betimes shying from, the nightly oblivion that comes with surrendering to sleep – I wonder if I will be enough, tomorrow, to meet the needs of the day, all still uncertain whether I have been of the one now left behind.
[23:45]
