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The Dark Night Of The Prince!

Winter nights are dark.  Not in a dark dreadful way.  Not in a dark dreary way.  Not in a darkly, dreadful doom-filled way.  And certainly not in a spookily darkly way!  I love the dark.  I can sleep or I can wakefully watch the night.  Peer out the cabin window and watch, or think, or dream, or shiver.  Nothing I have to do.  Nothing I have to think.  Just what comes.  Most of what I ever wrote I wrote in the dark, without light, in my head.  I miss the dark.  I'm going back to Alaska next month.  Return to the darkly, frigid, beautiful, thoughtful darkness, where the snow covers the ice that forms from the quickly cooling rivulets, seeping from the cloudy hot springs.  Moose drinking, ptarmigan warming.  Sometimes the aurora is bright enough to see the ermine and the voles scurry by.  I now I wasn't dreaming them because I can see their little toe writing in the short lived dim twilight.  Yeah - the light is over-rated.  I always wondered why light is associated with goodness and godliness, and darkness with evilish, devilish gloom.  Or sometimes even love and hate.  I love the dark.


Poor second royal baby.  He may be jealous of his brother.  If I was the child of the heir, I certainly would not want to be the first born.  I would hate to have to keep looking over my shoulder to make sure my baby sibling wasn't plotting to kill me!  Maybe I'm just paranoid!