Its dark. The thunder emanates from the south. Insecurities run deep at this hour. A cry for information in the dark interrupts it’s peace. Demons are near. Demons welcome the doubt. The plush comfort of what is known dazzles the night air. The quiet of slumber is the antagonist here tonight. Would real thoughts emerge from the underbelly of fear? Who cannot judge oneself in the light of storylines designed by the creator? Yet the silence returns. Deafening is the sound of nothing. Nothing is celebrated. Revered and met with dire consequences in other arenas. The crackle of the fireplace looms close. Is not the comfort of a warm’s night sleep essential to the cause? What does that that warm sleep hold? The pursuit of delight and proclivity wins. Balance is key.
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