We saw the sun go down too early, as it does these days, but were quick to rush out with matches light up the streets bag by bag, votive by votive.
There is light that won’t be eclipsed, no matter how thick the reality of night. Small fires burn all over that together add up to: Something Substantial.
Something Worth Noting.
Something Worth Being Afraid Of. (If your name is Night or Darkness or Diminish or…Can't-Be)
We gathered early to make preparations, when we could have ridiculed the very notion of a dwindling day.
None who came cared that there was:
A. Zero pragmatic reason to spend our hours this way. B. One hundred percent chance our hard work would be in the trash soon after dawn.
We did it for beauty’s sake and we did it for ours.
For the sake of fighting back in some warm, small way against the inky blanket of night, and standing outside to pay attention.
Because we know in our bones we are alive for just this kind of moment.
So let the wind come, Along with the clean-up crew.
I will fan this flame and see it glow in a place untouchable Until I reach a place made only-- and entirely-- of Light.