I don’t know what it is about hanging out of the window
of my small bedroom in my grandparents’ house at night –
but I love it.
Maybe it’s the distant sound of the sea clashing against the shore,
or the gentle bleat of the lambs in the field next door
or it could possibly be the coastal breeze that softly hits my face
and cools the room around me.
It could simply be the sight of the stars in the sky,
millions and millions of miles away from Earth.
Whatever it is – I love it.
It’s some sort of nocturnal paradise.
An unearthly quiet.
You could just listen.
Listen to the world around you,
until it’s no longer asleep and the darkness has been forced away by the
blinding sun –
but we know.
We know that if we just hold on that little bit longer,
we can be back in paradise again.
Back listening to the lambs and the waves and the wind.
Back gazing at the light of hundreds of dying suns that are so very far away.
That will return in a few insignificant hours,
and I will be back