Walking At Night

Someone held a cell phone flashlight behind me and the enormous shadow of me spread across the hillside. I was a powerful being, looming large upon the landscape. Meanwhile, an orange piece of moon cast its cantaloupe smile, and just beyond our field of vision, the pale gravel road vanished, and we walked forward based on memory and trust. We heard rustlings in the brush, and now and then the somber note of an owl, and beneath it all, a tapestry of cricket song. The commonplace features of daytime had transformed into mystery, and we walked all the way to the beach, where a line of white etched each incoming wave, and the lights of a distant boat projected a small halo into sea and sky. Then Mr. Tambourine Man inexplicably entered my head, so I danced beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free:

Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow

It feels delicious to go outside wandering in the night, and to do so with friends and without fear. It’s a pretty good way to be seventy––a victory, an achievement, and a bonus. I’m grateful.

But I’ve always liked walking at night. Back in my childhood days of Brooklyn, I loved how the windows of houses filled with amber light and I could imagine cozy families within, how street lamps and neon signs spilled their glow onto the sidewalks, how soft sounds that hid beneath the day became discernible. Once I got confused and scared, but I found my way to a phone booth in the five and dime store, where I called my father, who came quickly to my rescue. Years later, living in Syracuse, still fond of my nighttime walks, I was jumped from behind by a group of teenage boys who knocked me to the ground, grabbed my purse and ran. I was frightened, and hysterical, but mostly angry. I felt that they had taken away the sense of comfort and pleasure I’d always had while walking in the night. But who knows? Maybe they saved my life. I was a stupid, foggy-headed girl, spared by good luck, not good sense.

Miraculously, the saga of my life culminates here on this western shore, where the nights are deep as velvet, and the stars are startling, and we can be whimsically nocturnal if we so desire. It’s been hot during the day, and late afternoon walks to the cusp of dusk are a welcome indulgence. But an occasional walk after nightfall is in its own way more wondrous. I like not seeing too far up the road. I like not seeing into morning. I like forgetting about today until tomorrow. Sometimes I want to forget about tomorrow too. The night embraces me like an old friend, and I blink into it, not quite knowing where I am, and that’s a good thing.