Can fire be created in a fog? Can sparks be formed in the damp midnight air? When leaves are blackened by the night, are they really still green just because they ought to be?
I have all sorts of questions I am dying to ask to somebody who like me is living in this midnight forest. I have all sorts of hopes I wish to explain, and sounds I wish to interpret. I have assumptions waiting for the light of day to either be confirmed or refuted. I just really want to know, but as soon as I close my eyes, I am alone again in my midnight forest treading on broken branches, bones chilled to the core, and noises of the night surround me.
I take careful steps as I’ve really learned my way, what trails to step on and which not to. I breathe in damp cold air and I see the vacuum. It is everywhere and I am lost. I am lost in time, history and space. I am lost between night and day just wandering in the last speck of dark just before the break of dawn.
I anticipate and I tread softly. I finally believe in something, that this too shall pass. That the dark will lend itself to the first speck of day and I will be there lost in the jungle but ready to burst in flame. And once I catch a light life will essentially begin. I will breathe in light and breathe out flame, I will bask in the color of red yellow and grey. I will witness the forest greens and I will light up the bluest skies; because I know lack of color and I know the midnight trail.
Once I catch a speck of light, the night will sing my praise; that I once lived in its realms and painted the softest maze. It will bow and walk away graceful and free of pain. It will subside with a break of dawn and silently let me be. One mind, one heart and a fire in between.