A Conversation at Nightfall with Winston Ray Brown Dog

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I have always like night, although I find the contrary more often true lately. In a way, it is the same feature of the night that I worshipped then, I can dislike intensely now. How to describe this feature that I found so appealing in the past. and do even now, on a good night. The definition of good has been reduced, it lacks most of the excitement and some of the contentment, but can, at times, still be insightful.  The feature I speak of is the night’s distance, in both time and space, from the day. When I think about it, what I found fascinating, the big draw of nightfall, was the distorting effect it had on all who entered its’ domain. It covered certain flaws and magnified others, those of us afraid of bright light, not quite uniformly correct could maneuver less encumbered by the paradigm of the day. There are truths revealed in the night that remains hidden in the shadows during the reign of the Helios.  Some can be profound, but many are just far-flung wanderings because boundaries are dissolved and this time belongs to the nocturnal. Their truths are not day truths and like the mythical vampire, they should be laid to rest by sunrise. Loneliness and pain are living entities at night that prey on the weak and the weary. It isn’t so much that emotions become increased; it is that they awaken from slumber and go on the prowl. It is a time when love can take many forms, it can be a cruel master, a faded memory, something just out of reach, or your savior against the perils of the night. I became aware, in a way that can only happen at night, when comes to providing or receiving love, two legs are optional.

So forgive me if I can not say if it was a dream, an intense conversation, or the reality of the never world of nightfall. Last night I became Winston Ray Brown Dog. I will not bore you on what it was like to become a dog, only what I found. I found Love. My wife bought me my bowl of food with a smile that reached her eyes; no sign of regret or imposition. She held my face close and rubbed her hands through my hair. She whispered words of affection, no more than that! her whole countenance expressed the appreciation and love whispered in my ear. My presence brought her happiness. I licked her face once and I heard an almost high pitch howl of what I perceived to be the ancient wolf slowly morph into the familiar baritone of Winston Ray Brown Dog. It was calling me back from my night vision. I am not given to interpreting dreams, except to say thanks to all the Brown Dogs in the world. And also to be reminded that when I was little I felt like the prey, then for many years I considered myself more predator than prey. With age and illness, the pendulum swings back. I remember being little and we were stuck in the mud on a dark and raining night, I was worried the devil was going to get me, I laid my head on my Nana’s lap and all she said was shh and I fell fast asleep. I am not looking for someone to chase away my demons, but I sure did like being Brown Dog; loved and accepted, just because.

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