Twilight Hour

I have a habit of going to bed “too early” according to some most. But often my mind and body crave the essence of sleep; to escape the day and pressures of considering anyone or anything else.

Last night I crawled under the covers at 8pm, just as the sunlight was leaning back into deep cool tones. Everything was the same and yet everything was different… I felt a strange peace in letting the light slip from my eyes, as though I was right where I was supposed to be at just the right time. Before sleep overtook me I jotted down a few thoughts and let the following poem find its way onto the page.

Twilight is like an empty womb 

Resting from hours upon hours of pushing. 

Finally we pause, lie in wait for darkness—

For the evening’s full permission to be still and rest.

She is the one singing us to sleep,

Beckoning gently, unlike the heavy midnight hour

Who shushes quiet fiercely, closing lids fighting sleep 

Twilight is the stroking of hair,

Soft kisses on the forehead,

A quiet “How was today?” 

Her stillness,

Her steadiness is so unnerving to our overrun systems

That we kick and scream,

Finding rituals to “unwind” and “calm” us for bed.

She, our natural mother of instinct,

Our comforter and crooner meant to carry us to dreamland,

Cannot deny our wishes.

If we wish to venture on our own, she will let us. 

A swift goodbye;

Her hour so short.

But how we both cherish the nights where there is patience,

Enough trust,

To sit silently and listen to the lullaby of blue light.

Not from a screen, or a false reality,

But from a quiet goodnight 

From motherly twilight 

Photography by Obscura Studios
Creative Direction by Helen Tafesse // Older & Wiser Co.