and even the silence appears to be sleeping. Its shadows are one place where thoughts can be heard and the quiet can be mined for its hidden eloquence.
Many years ago my clock was set and it was set towards evening. If I had my day as I wish it I would rise early, nap in the middle and then spend the hours until midnight pursuing the tasks of life. Alas, there is no siesta in Minnesota, no rest in the heat of the day. We are mad dogs and Englishmen, up early, off to work, and out in the noonday sun.
In a short while I will be asleep, there is a tiredness in my face that calls me to bed. Yet for a moment I will hang on to this night and its serene darkness as my world awaits the morning.
The Beautiful Path 