The world rests in the night.
Trees, mountains, fields, and faces
are released from the prison of shape
and the burden of exposure.
Each thing creeps back into its own nature
within the shelter of the dark.
Darkness is the ancient womb.
Nighttime is womb-time. Our souls come out to play.
Nighttime is womb-time. Our souls come out to play.
The darkness absolves everything;
the struggle for identity and impression falls away.
We rest in the night.
John O'Donohue
Anam Cara
Photo: Peter Bowers