Last night, unable to sleep, I went out for a walk. For some reason the words from an old play by Dylan Thomas called, Under Milk Wood, went around in my mind like this:
"You can hear the dew falling,
and the hushed town breathing.
Only your eyes are unclosed,
to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep."
The night by the sea is perhaps the most mystical of times. All is laid bare... warts and smiles and hopes and thoughts of what is to come. We don't hear the falling dew but the beating of the heart of the planet... the sound of the sea can be almost soothing. The breathing of the planet... the sound of the breeze as it rustles the palms is a comfort. And all of us... the slow and the fast, the dull and quick, the high and the low... all of us wishing for the kindness of sleep.
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