Parallel Universe – Midnight Field

It was chilly that evening, freezing in fact, and the moon was already out. That, or maybe it never left. Maybe I spent so log dreaming that when I woke up the rest of the world had fallen asleep again.

I like to imagine them sometimes. The sleeping people of the universe. I like to wonder if their day was busy, if they were fluttering around like excited little butterflies hopping on and off trains and running in and out of coffee shops.

They could be doing what I was doing, of course. Spending a day wrapped up in cotton and silk and pillows and coffee and then spending a night out in the field down the road – the one with the oak tree, high and majestic, almost like a castle, of which I am the queen.

I hadn’t visited it in a while and I was missing the taste of the air. There’s just something so magical, so mysteriously thrilling, about lying in blades of grass as long as your fingers and staring up at the stars. It’s not as scary as you might imagine, either. Because you don’t feel quite alone out there. Not with the sound of the breeze against the line of houses on the roads opposite the farm. Not with the owls whispering their secrets to you, knowing you won’t understand. Not with the stars looking down at the world, maybe even watching us back as intently and with as much awe as we do them. It’s not lonely, not with the buzz of the Earth beside you.

It’s fascinating, really. When you take a moment to pause and just observe, you see a lot more than you expect. Like taking off your sunglasses and taking a proper look through the sunlight. It’s brighter, almost. It shines.

That’s why I visit the field at night. Not because it’s quieter or easier to get to. Not because the stars are tucked up in bed during the day. No, not even close. But to remind myself that, even during the most midnight sky in the midnight field, the world still shines.

And that’s how you know that the stars are watching us with awe. Because the world is glowing as bright as them, if not more.

I imagine in a parallel universe I might be a caricaturist or a botanist or somewhere asleep on the moon — but here, I am a writer.

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