Twilight has a magic to it. It is dim enough that lights shine over distances, but still bright enough that trees and buildings have detail. The cooling air is invigorating and the blueness of the sky is soothing. I like being outside at twilight. I once read a story about a fairy maiden who would dance in a meadow under the shining moon. She was beautiful and, of course, someone saw her and fell in love. I don’t remember the rest of the story, but that image of dancing in the wind under the trees stayed with me as an ideal of beauty and freedom. I’ve often wished I could find some big open place and just dance. What a wonderful way to feel wild and young and free. I still wish for it sometimes. There is a part of my soul that cries out against the regimentation of my life. I don’t go outside at twilight anymore because that is bedtime, one of my most intensive times of day. That is when the kids need my full attention as I read stories and help with prayers and drinks and snacks. I help with these things enclosed inside four walls. Have you ever noticed that the air is dead inside a building? People call that “stuffy” but to me it feels dead. Inside air doesn’t live or invigorate the way that outside air does. (Of course inside air shelters, but that’s a subject for a different day.)
Responsibility is a trap and a joy. My children depend on me to provide stability. The last thing I want to do is fail them. They bring me joy and purpose. I can’t run off to dance in moonlit fields without abandoning them. But I can write a story about someone who does. I can dance in my own backyard. Just because I can’t have the whole dream doesn’t mean I’ll refuse the snatches of it that I can have.
And someday, your children will no longer depend on you. And you can then dance in the twilight wilderness … and will probably long, just a little, to be inside at home, reading bedtime stories to your children. 🙂