the witching hour

by ann

Hello out there.

Time has tiptoed into tomorrow as I write to you. After hours of Korean dramas, Mom has finally drifted into slumber. The dogs too have flung themselves onto the bed, overtaking more than half of my miniscule mattress, and every few moments Chibi will sigh heavily as if contemplating the most burdensome thing. (Dogs are such curious creatures!)

This is my favorite part of the day, this witching hour. Save the low hum of my laptop, the silence has frozen time for me. It’s a beautiful thing: an island untouched by change.

Today I endeavored to stretch the witching hour into the day. From morning to night, I lounged in my pajamas, letting time trickle through my fingers, but I felt an increasing anxiety as a loud ticking countdown reverberated in my head. Doing nothing is much too luxurious. The days must be carefully planned with errands and work and social calls. Despite the growing to-do lists, I am rooted. Because to do things is to admit that change is near. No, it is happening. And so I shuttle between a breakneck pace and stagnancy, which is yet another reason to cherish these wee morning hours: here I can collect my thoughts.

I cannot block the flow of time no matter how deeply I wedge myself into the ground. When the light sneaks through my curtained windows, my surroundings are illuminated. I am on no island and change is inevitable.

Ah, dear reader, these are twilight thoughts. So melancholy, no? I will write to you in the morn with a-hopefully-less addled mind.

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