IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, WE KEEP SENDING LITTLE KITES UNTIL A LITTLE LIGHT GETS THROUGH
In the middle of the night, waking up to the sound of wind and some animal howling in the distance, not one usually heard. Waking up and somehow there is this perception or awareness that even that most obvious story is made up; how could anyone be waking up, how could it be the middle of the night, how could it be anything at all? The animal call sounds plaintive, like a lonesome howl in the darkness. But no doubt, whatever it is---could it be the elusive wildcat? ---is not at all lonesome, and being nocturnal, it is quite at home in the darkness. The Miranda thingie also seems at home in the darkness; she loves the night, along with the grey “dreich” days, more than the bright sunlight. Maybe because in her story she is from a place without a lot of sunshine. I notice an email from my teenage cousin, a girl who also went mad and suspects this is genetic. But she will agree that genetics is only a story, and words can never even express what is felt and seen, especially as feeling and