Nocturne

It is late, or rather early in the wee smas. I am folding up this laptop to finish my paper and silly qi journal tomorrow morning before class. Stretched out on my bed, Zooey is asleep at my feet, and Gibson has tucked himself into a stripey loaf at my hip and fixed me with his wide green gaze. And it is quiet, the vastness of night, a time I have both treasured and loathed. For the last hour my roof and tree leaves have been tip-tapped by a gentle, lazy shower. Tonight I treasure the wee smas. And I wonder who else is awake, falling asleep with me to the rain?