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How do you spend your evenings?
My evening is the day’s jewel. Calamity disappears as I pass the late hours together with myself, unencumbered with the demands of daytime.
Between 7 p.m. and 8 p.m. when the light is seeping out of the afternoon, my legs and thoughts wander. My neighborhood becomes magnetic — bikers and pedestrians line the avenues and are drawn child-like to the glowing colors of the near distance.
As they move along, I am left alone with my rituals, my reading, my rites of the night.
I am content to bustle from dawn through daylight but the night calls for delicacy of action, for thoughtful use of minutes and hours. My mind performs the rigmarole of daily preparations for tomorrow as my hands methodically wash, sort, fold and sweep.
I rarely leave the house after dark. The solitude is a relief after a day of negotiations, edits and meetings. Within my own space, I psychically recharge.
Packing my bags each night, I feel tremendous hope for the next day. I scan the calendar, reply to my mail and plan accordingly. I develop a cozy illusion of control over the next shift of life.
Even when I arrive home too late from the newspaper for my rituals of tea and minor concerns, I never abandon them completely. Making the bed, writing a letter or reading for pleasure makes the end of the day feel dignified and purposeful. That isn’t to say I’ve never fallen asleep on the couch to the lull of PBS, but those nights I feel cheated, taken unawares.
After stumbling through a long dream, I arrive at morning. My mind is still quiet while I boil oatmeal and consider the tragic front pages of the day, often too much to bear so early. Before 8 a.m. I am out the door, not to return until the sun is again creeping away, leaving me with my world of private night.
Your Editor,
Natalia Ciolko
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