For years, especially as a teenager, I called myself a night person. I loved the nighttime, the darkness balanced against this glow and that one, the cool air, the sense of anonymity and freedom.
But the older I become, the more I am a day person. Long years of hard experience are destined to end anyone’s love affair with the night. The night is dark, and it inevitably brings with it all of the sad things. The closer you are to your own old age and mortality, the less use you have for the sad things.
Daytime brings an infinite variety of birds and flowers.
I am not so male as to be able to deny a deep love of birds and flowers.
“In the city, night’s five brief watches
End. The tower high, rain and snow thin,
Bare hints through silk curtains promise
Clear skies. Far-off, Jade String sets.
Sunrise startles magpies from the gate,
And crows perched among rigging scatter.
But the cold river flows, an immaculate
Patience against those who will return.”
There is no greater pain than rejection.
There is no greater hope than the voice of a lone bird in the morning.