ChapterZero

As a young child, I remember night thrilled and threatened me. On moonless nights, the rural parish where we lived was pitch dark; if you stood still long enough for the night noises– crickets and such– to fade into the background, the gravid darkness and the wind unceasingly blowing in off the ocean could give the impression that you stood on the edge of the world, just a step away from a forever drop into oblivion. Either that, or the impression that you floated in a timeless, limitless womb of darkness, utterly alone. Night demanded respect and invited introspection. The nearest I’ve come to recapturing those feelings in America was several times accompanying my father on a construction job — a contract for the renovation of a small, improbably located Baptist church– that saw us driving for miles on the twisty, unlit dirt roads of rural Texas.

Nights in cities and heavily urbanized areas have none of the character of those country nights. Pervasive lighting and the attendant 24-7 mentality have erased any serious distinction between day and night. It saddens me to think of the kids growing up now who will never enjoy a truly dark night.