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| 3 a.m. at the airport |
It is my favorite time no matter where I am.
Everything empties and brief moments suddenly stand alone. There's enough space to see a possible future.
When moving into my apartment almost forty years ago it was at night, while roommates slept, that I would wander through the apartment and attempt to scrub it clean, fix its tatterness tidy it up.
Wishful thinking that when I woke up late for work the apartment might have metamorphosed into a home I kept seeing in a magazine or in a TV commercial. I was always too tired to be disappointed.
But even if morning was disappointing, those night hours weren't. There was space to dream. There was quiet to hear my heart. The world was infinite and I could go anywhere I wanted.
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In The Still Of The Night
In The Still Of The Night The Sound Of Silence
In The Still Of The Night The Sound Of Silence Revisited
