"Summer Nights" (Short Story)

Night was her favorite time of day. 

She wasn’t quite sure what it was that she so enjoyed—the darkness, perhaps, or the cold, or the quiet—but out of all the endeavors of her daytime schedule, none could compare to her favorite pastime—sitting on the roof of her secluded cabin just as dusk began to swallow the sun.

Bliss. Not a soul (dead or alive) to bother her, left alone with just her thoughts. Truthfully, those were oftentimes as irksome as any person could be, but raised there she could allow the gentle breeze to chill her skin, rustle her hair, and clear away some of that burden. Seeing the forest—now dark as charcoal—and the ocean—revealing the colors of its depths—from an elevated point of view seemed to change her perspective on life, as well, and caused each of her problems to dissipate for a brief moment, a temporary pause in time’s tiresome script.

She looked to the stars, too. She used to know all the constellations, back in her childhood and before the lights of neighboring cities conquered and distorted the midnight sky. Admittedly, she loved night’s scattered stars far more than day’s sole, and she sometimes felt, at such a height, as if she could extend two fingers and pluck them from their positions. Once she tried, in a moment of childlike credulity, but then lowered her hand in mortification.

Thus occurred to her another pleasant aspect of the Earth’s black shadow—every action of hers was concealed, hidden from any eye that might pry. She could make a great fool of herself, do any sort of unspeakable or ridiculous thing, and it would be known to none but her own conscience.

She kept a blanket with her—one of which the fabric was just thick enough to keep her warm but thin so that shivers from the slowly-cooling air still shook her. She was unaware of its color, as she hung it each night around the chimney and did not glance at it again until the sky reverted to black.

Her summer nights were of the utmost importance. Her summer nights allowed her a comfortable and kempt place to rest, whilst the day tossed her round and round until she could no longer see. Her summer nights wrapped her in velvet cloaks and lacy veils, whilst the day stripped her of coverings and laughed as the sun glared upon her bare skin. Her summer nights reassured her with comforting whistling and peaceful quiet, whilst the day hurled at her harsh insults and blatant shrieks.

Her summer nights belonged to her and her alone.