It’s quieter here. It’s easier to think and write in the middle of the night. The news cycle seems to pause for a few hours. The spouse sleeps so there is no tv or music going, no feeling of guilt or pressure to do a load of laundry or dishes at 2 am.

Yes, sleep would be wise. But it’s so deliciously quiet right now, that I want to soak it all in with words. The ink will smear across the page and the crickets outside the window will chirp their song as my mind whirls through the thoughts and stories like I toss through a box of clothes looking for that one shirt I could have sworn was in there.