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Everything happens at night.The world changes, the shadows grow, there’s secrecy and privacy in dark places. First kiss at night, by the monkey bars and the old swings that the children and their parents have vacated; second, longer kiss, by the bike stands, swirl of dust around feet in the dry summer air. Awkward words, like secrets just waiting to be broken, the struggle to find the right ones, the heady fear of exposure — what if, what if — the joy when the words are returned. Love, in the parkette, while the moon waxes and the clouds pass.Promises at night. Not first promises — those are so old they can’t be remembered — but new promises, sharp and biting; they almost hurt to say, but it’s a good hurt. Dreams at night, before sleep, and dreams during sleep.Everything, always, happens at night.
