I love being out in my garden late at night. When the whole world’s asleep, and I appear to be the only person who is awake and alert. I love the lack of noise, or rather the lack of human-generated noise. There are plenty of other sounds: the cool whisper of the wind stirring through the dark-edged leaves above me, the faint sleepy chirrups of baby birds nesting in the eaves of my home. I strain my ears and faintly hear a dog barking in the distance. I savor the delicious feeling of being alone. I’m so rarely alone during the day. My husband and my little boy demand a lot of my attention when I’m at home, and of course during the day I’m either at my job or attending my college classes. At night, however… at night I can be truly alone. I step out from my front porch and slip off my sandals. I feel the cold blades of grass caress my feet as I cross my lawn. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling the musky aroma of the night-blooming jasmine that creeps up the side of my pink adobe house.

It’s time, I think. Time to explore the night’s possibilities, and to escape for a while the responsibilities of my busy human life. I slowly open the creaky gate, careful not to disturb the night with my progress. I walk into the middle of the street, shrugging off my housecoat, leaving my shoulders bare to the midnight air. My tank top and shorts offer me enough protection from the mild summer breeze that barely stirs the hairs at the base of my neck. I spread my arms and begin running down the middle of the street, faster and faster I run, and then… I leap into the air and beat my arms frantically into the air, my wings sprout instantly with pearly feathers and I’m off! I circle high above my street, looking down upon my tiny house. My large, luminescent wings hold me effortlessly high above the ground, merely a few strokes needed now and then to keep me afloat in the currents of the night. I wonder if this is how the birds fly, as I seem to float quite easily upon the wind. I soar ever higher, turning towards the west and the ocean.

During my travel, I coast over houses, condominiums, schools and churches. All below me is asleep, and around me the air is still and cool. I share my flight with no one and no thing. Even the birds are asleep at this hour. Silent and blissful, I swoop and soar through the air, enjoying the feeling of solitude.  Eventually I realize that dawn is coming, and so I must return home. Regretfully I turn back to the east, and flap my wings hard, and harder still, as it is imperative that I beat the rising sun. To be caught outside, to be seen by another human being is to lose the power of flight, that alone time that is so essential to my soul. Soon I near my street, barely visible in the street lights. I flap my wings one last time, then hover and drop down into my garden, my feathers disappearing as I fold my arms about me to keep out the sudden chill. I hear my neighbors stirring, alarms going off and showers starting. The smells of coffee and frying bacon are beginning to fill the air. I know I must go inside quickly, before my own family wakes up and wonders where I am. I take back the heavy mantle of responsibility and turn towards my door, wiping away the salty tears that I hadn’t known were there.

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