Rain at 3am

Sense and Senseless

It's the time reserved for rain and peepers. And complete non-sleepers. She tried for a while but a dream startled her awake and she didn't even know what it was about. She supposed if she thought on it, she could drag that memory to life, but she knew better. It was the face that awoke her. That's the part that's senseless. Faces. The people they belong to, and the games they play to help themselves sleep at night. She really couldn't complain, because it's not like she's some innocent, drifting through life. She knows who she is. But her schemes are mostly to understand people. This life. This side of life (unlike the parallel life she's sure she can feel sometimes, but just can't touch).

The sense part is dirt. Mud. The stuff that behaves with no motivations. She digs a hole. The dirt yields. She digs another hole. The hole becomes a trench. The trench becomes a base. The base becomes a wall...and that, to her is the irony of it all. It's a wall for her little fortress in the woods. It's a wall to keep stuff in. To keep stuff out. She lays the wall with careful consideration. Concentration. It keeps the senseless out. And when the day is done, there is no more room for senseless.

And Then There is Fire

Quite the opposite of this damp, dank night filled with song. Fire was her first love. The way it takes on a life of its own. Searches for food, grows, and even changes its environment to fit its needs. She understands fire. It consumes and feeds all at the same time. She relates to fire, feels it, respects it. Sometimes harnesses just a little bit of the very fire of life to burn what needs destroyed, so that new life can grow. It's not always the most intelligent way, but it is her way. And though she is learning to aim that fire at dirt and mud and trenches, sometimes a little bit spills at in the direction of the senseless.

She Yields to Darkness

And the promises it brings, and the peepers that sing. And for one more night she contains that fire.