The In-Between Hour
The In-Between Hour The world holds its breath for a fleeting moment, as the fingers of daylight slip gently from the hand of the earth. Night has reached the doorstep, yet has not crossed the threshold. It is then that the streetlamps awaken one by one— like fireflies frozen high above the ground. The last train shares a long sigh with the rails. From its turning wheels leap tiny sparks, little suns that die away before they can kiss the earth. Somewhere, a kitchen lamp still refuses sleep. A kettle hums itself toward silence. Unconcerned with the rise and fall of empires, a cat, having wandered through the kingdom of sleep, slowly opens its amber eyes and decides that this silence alone is reason enough to remain awake. This is the truest hour of the word almost. Almost a moment... Almost a memory... Almost a self... Almost a journey towards the person who once believed, with innocent certainty, "This is who I shall become." And by then, the old moon will rise as though not...
