I don’t know what it is about hanging out
of the window
of my small bedroom in my grandparents’
house at night –
but I love it.
Maybe it’s the distant sound of the sea
clashing against the shore,
or the gentle bleat of the lambs in the
field next door
or it could possibly be the coastal breeze
that softly hits my face
and cools the room around me.
It could simply be the sight of the stars
in the sky,
millions and millions of miles away from Earth.
Whatever it is – I love it.
It’s some sort of nocturnal paradise.
An unearthly quiet.
You could just listen.
Listen to the world around you,
until it’s no longer asleep and the
darkness has been forced away by the
blinding sun –
but we know.
We know that if we just hold on that little
bit longer,
we can be back in paradise again.
Back listening to the lambs and the waves
and the wind.
Back gazing at the light of hundreds of
dying suns that are so very far away.
That will return in a few insignificant hours,
and I will be back
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