The Night - In Class Writing - Freewrite

When I think of the night, I think of a blanket of nothingness – a tapestry with artful glimpses, like pinholes, into some glowing beyond. I think of the moon in all her waxing and waning –when she is full, I can go outside without a flashlight.
When I think of the night, I think of raccoons and possum going through my garbage can. I think of lightning bugs and moths, and I think of mosquitoes getting caught in the luminescent bug zapper, setting it off in electrical snaps and jumps, mini-lightning bolt flashes.
When I think of the night, I think of Juliet pining for Romeo he is neither sun nor moon nor stars. I think of a Midsummer Night’s Dream. I think of the ghosts in Macbeth and the death of Desdemona in Othello.
When I think of the night, I think of passing through some alternate plain, lifting back some veil of knowledge and transforming into something else, anything else. I think of the cosmos. I think it inspired Einstein and Hawking to look beyond the norm all that was previously accepted.
When I think of the night, I think of hot cocoa and blankets in the back of a pickup, pointing at the Leonids, punch drunk laughing, and UFOs.
When I think of the night, I think of Jazz music in the sweltering streets of the French quarter, the smell of liquor and sweat mixing with the sewage vapors rising from storm drains in humid smotherings. I think of wild laughter.
When I think of the night, I think of Van Gogh’s paintings, a hazy suggested swirl, a foreground tree, and rooms always painted in the strangest colors. I think of heavy oil on canvas.