Night walks slowly into the west bowed in defeat even as the grey shadow of predawn can be seen brushing the fingers of the eastern horizon. The night wind blows the lingering stars away like particles of dust and prepares the world for the grand entrance of the day star.
That brief span of time when dawn is nothing more than a grey vapor and night moves slowly into the west has a quality about it that is unlike any other time in the twenty four hour cycle of a day.
It is a time that is eloquent in its uncertainty. Often it is the hour when mortal beings transition into the spirit world. Perhaps it is the breath of those dying beings that lends this hour a ghastly glimmer. It is a time that offers no guarantees about the day ahead nor does it allow even a hint at what may lie in wait for us along the way.
It reeks of fading dreams that leave us uncertain of whether it is we who are awake or still in a dream state. It is a liminal state, an in between place in which anything can happen.
At Day’s end it is the vesper hour, the time of twilight that marks the conclusion of the day and possesses a feeling of restfulness, of letting go; it is a time in which we relinquish the events of the day to the circling winds and prepare to enter the dream time.
But the spectral time between the departure of night and the emergence of the sun is redolent with uncertainty and the unspoken knowledge that we are mortal.
For all of us there must come a final dawn, a moment when, like the night, we too shall walk westward into the great unknown.
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