The Story of Night

Evening met up with me one day asking for a plot. I asked him for a story line. He said he did not have a story yet but he did have a hunch. I said to him, “I don’t have time. It’s about to be dark.” To which he smiled and said, “Good. Now we are thinking the same thought.” “Which is?” I asked. “Night,” he remarked. “Night is the plot.” So I found a tree and a comfortable spot by the water in the dusk. And as I wrote, my pages flew out and away, across the canvas of a forgotten day, just as a short short.