Sometimes, I wake in the middle of the night. There is no reason that I can pinpoint, other than perhaps, I came in later that evening, ravenous, eating too much near bedtime, or my sleep allotment for that day had been met. When these nights occur, I usually drink a glass of water, but instead of going back to toss and turn in bed, I will go and sit on the edge of my carport while leaning against a fake aluminum column, quietly, just to listen to the sounds of the night.
There is always the distant sentinel chorus of dogs barking. My imagination kicks in, as I listen to the dog’s languid bark that their corner is secure of any stray, tiny vermin, or they are reporting from their checkpoint to the other dogs throughout our small town that all the stars are still in the sky and that no aliens have landed on or near them.
Then there is the distant owl searching for its mate with its cello-sounding calls reverberating through the distant, black shadows of the trees that slowly sway in the purple-hued night skies.
One night, the neighborhood black cat strolled down the street about fifteen feet in front of me, that stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. He was not sure of my response, as he waited frozen while staring at me. I was tempted to call to him, ‘kitty’, ‘kitty’, but an older woman was not what he was looking for that night, unless I had special treats, which I did not, so he cautiously moved forward on his nightly prowl. Days later, after that night, I saw a black cat run over in the middle of the highway. I recalled meeting him that night, as I wondered, what if? What if, he had not frozen in the middle of the road that night for those few moments, if time would have been in his favor while crossing that highway at that fractional moment in time, or was that moment that he met the car tire inevitable? Perhaps, I should have called out to him that night. Perhaps.
5/14/20Recommended2 recommendationsPublished in