Night Walk

May 5 2016

Walking in the forest at night.

The narrow glimpse of blue-black sky.

Two diminutive figures

trudging on uneven ground

in even deeper dark.

Where the trees crowding the path

seem like one.

A murky mass

of forking branches, looming trunks

that front a shrouded wood;

still, quiet

impenetrable.

I feel eyes peering out

and sometimes hear a rustling.

Yet feel unaccountably safe

if we stick to the path

and walk respectfully,

keeping small

knowing our place.

Here, where it’s never flat, or straight

and no one ever chain-sawed the way,

screeching, burbling

spewing exhaust.

And even though it wanders

circles back

goes nowhere at all

it is not without purpose.

Alone

in the dark

the dog at my side,

so far beneath

the blue-black sky.

I wanted to convey the paradoxical feeling you get walking at night like this:  that small protected feeling of being enclosed, contrasted with that feeling of being open to the universe as the sky peels back and you can see out to the most distant star. Where even the moonless sky is light, compared to the gloom as the eye descends into the trees.

I wanted to invoke that feeling of humility one gets in the grandeur of nature:  how small and insignificant a single human being is; how indifferent the universe.

And finally, I wanted to convey the usefulness of doing something useless:  of unstructured time; of walking for the sake of walking; of going nowhere slow.

I don’t know how nocturnal dogs are by nature, but mine is used to walking at night. We try to make our way without a flashlight. It feels as if you can’t see anything with one:  everything outside the narrow beam of light becomes pitch black. And the unnatural glare makes you feel as if you don’t belong, like some loud disturbance or unwanted intruder. Not to mention that the bright light draws attention, eliminating the cloak of invisibility darkness affords:  as if there were no escape from the sinister eyes that may be peering out and tracking you.