at this time of the night there is a certain magic in the air, the air just becomes plumped purple, stuffed with night-secrets. the crickets don't chirp this time of the night, as if this time were suspended mid-strike--trapped in its own silence, drowning in its own thoughts. the estate is silent, and from my window there is no movement, not of the trees, or of the roads or of anything at all and i stare and stare and blend right into this frozen night

but 6 o'clock will come too soon, and just as quickly i will fall asleep;
goodnight.