The night is mine to find my peace, to write and think. This is the time when there are no interruptions at the door from the carpenter, plumber, driver, housekeeper, guard, delivery man, telecom team, ministers, visitors, neighbours, sweepers, garbage collectors, and even those who bother to come around to offer condolences.
The night is mine, to take possession of my time and life again. I indulge in that which brings me joy, inspiration, and serenity: photography, writing, thinking, prayer, and simply being.
The night is mine to shed my tears, curse at the burdens that weigh heavily on my weary shoulders, and search for the strength and courage depleted during the day.
The night is mine to listen to the rain on the roof, smile at the street cats prowling through the neighbourhood, and chuckle at the frogs and toads reciting their pledges to all and sundry.
The night is mine to take charge of my soul and free my spirit, so I may face the next day and embrace the challenges that come my way.
If I stumble and fall through the day, have pots and pans rain on my head because I have moved the furniture for the 10th time, I have the night to nurse my bruises.
Insults and betrayals during the day evaporate in the night, as I pray for the souls of those who should know better. The night is mine to rebuild that which has crumbled.
I have learned my from my cat that certain things are best left for that time when not even a mouse is stirring.
Yes, the night is mine.