Or perhaps that should be some part of a romantic evening...
Since girlhood one of my favourite parts of the day has been the dwimmer. As a child, that part of an early summer evening, when it was a bit too dark to read, but too light to sleep, used to tug at some part of my inner core. It still does. My mum used to despair because I wouldn't want even my light summer-weight curtains drawn - I wanted to lie in bed and stare out at the evening dwindle, first watching the clouds baa-ing across the sky as the hand of some great artist added water to the colour, changing it so subtly from a deep blue to the palest of aquamarine. Then the sky would become an opalescent white, and it was at that point that I would feel the earth spin on its axis. Traffic noises would become oh so romantic, as they heralded the movements of strangers to some exquisite homecoming, electric lights just starting to peep, as lovers waltzed their ways. Somewhere out there, something would pull at me, whispering to me of the joys of the night, the promise of different lives just waiting to touch my own. Not some silly girlish imaginings of romantic love just waiting to happen; but a real sense of my part in the Universe, no matter how miniscule. A sense of hope that dawn has never brought to me, I don't think.
I'll make one exception there - of the dawning of the day that saw my son arrive in the world.
For so many years I lost that precious time, the feeling of wonder and mystery that late evening brings through open curtains and open windows. A different home, a different family, so very different circumstances, but once again I find myself now lying in bed, listening to those same beats of promise, that same experience of the earth turning. The view from my window has changed, yet still the sky's dance continues unchanged. And my heartstrings, so firmly wrapped around those I love, feel as though they are waiting to be stretched just a little further, just a little wider.
Somewhere out there are the people I used to imagine, waltzing with hair glowing with silver rather than the autumn colours they used to have. The night's magic is not lost, it is tangible, and makes my heart yearn for things I cannot imagine. I am content and happy, and have not lost my trust in or love of the dwimmer. It is my time.