Tag: night

Howl (03-24-2011)

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And then, in total darkness except for a light pole next to their house; it began.

A solitary howl; slow and deep, and then another voice broke out, and another. Until the howls of the wolves filled up the air and sky around us, filling in all the places between the trees and within my own body.

Their deep booms and high yips and guttering throat calls and chanting, fitting together in perfect time. A choir of ghosts. Wailing cries of wandering souls in the night.

Then, without any sign of a change, they crescendo, all howls becoming one. The voice of a great and ancient god, a sound that makes my very atoms vibrate.

There is not an instrument made by the hands of man that could come close to creating the sound of a wolf crying. A familiar call to my soul.

Ghost Hitchhiker (2-15-20)

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It was late at night, far into the winter, and deeply cold outside.

The snow fell steadily, blanketing all and sticking.

Then, the snow stopped and the temperature rose.

Just enough to make-wet the streets

And make fog rise from the ground.

I was driving my pickup truck; headlights on.

The fog was so dense I couldn’t see 15 feet in front of my own bumper.

I drove slowly down country roads,

Watching for ice and monsters alike.

I hit the outskirts of town, traffic driving by me from the opposite direction.

I turned a corner to see a semi a ways away,

Its headlights illuminating a man crossing the street,

And pausing to stand in the middle of the road.

The distance between the semi and I closed,

And as the glowing beams of our headlights touched,

There was no longer a man standing there.

He was gone, completely.

Disappeared into the fog or the night,

Making me suddenly truly believe all my Grandfather’s stories

About ghostly hitchhikers on the road at night.

In the Barn During a Thunderstorm [8.16.09]

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The sky flickers like an off-channel TV screen, the black and white fuzzy flashing. Sunflower cover the horizon, their shadows playing with me in the dark, casting lies against the side of the barn. I swear I can see the outline of a man, hunkered below their heavy drooping heads. A gust of wind makes them bend and shake, playing tricks on my eyes again and again. Am I still alone here in this barn? I become nervous, pulling my Winchester pocket knife out, opening it up, and squeezing it in my left hand while I write. It was all so strange, sitting on the lowest bales of hay, watching the heat lightening on the East side of the barn. The chickens are much bigger now than the stout fuzzy bodies they had a month ago. They softly fluff their feathers and cluck under their breath, the straw beneath them rustling as they stir their feet. The rain on the barn roof came down in a light mist, until finally, the skies opened up and large dense drops fell and splashed to the wheat fields and barn below. The wind blew in through the broken windows and whistled through my ears, tossing about my paper and all the tufts of hay that stuck out awkwardly and messy from their bales; frail bodies shaking.

Thoughts While Looking out the Window of an Airplane at Night. [3-19-09]

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The blue and orange glow of the fluorescent and incandescent lights of the city below,

Dot the ground in patterns like a Lightbright from my childhood.

I feel like the world is trying to tell me something in these patterns.

Like piles of gold, yellow, and blue glitter thrown onto the floor.

Their positions against the black,

The intensity of their shine,

Something to be read.

Like tea leaves stuck in the bottom of my cup.