Small Hours

Caught this thing back in the summer of 2010, where only the small hours feel safe. Rest of the time, it lies upon you, ticking clock, counting hours down till appointments you'd rather miss, places you'd rather not be, people you'd rather not meet. You can forget it out walking too, letting the pavements do their job, beat of footsteps on the concrete crossing roads, watching for new alleyways, for signs of twilight. I could walk forever at dusk, wish I could stop it right there, walk out to that red and beautiful horizon, falling down through violet and purples to night, star-shift skies, and always on the edge of fields, facing that darkness, and that imagined countryside sweeping out into forever... Here in the small hours, morning is a continent away, there is silence here and a peace, and even if it is full of ghosts, I don't mind feeling haunted.