Francesca and Ballet Slippers

in the black of night. in the embrace of the dark, soft being that comes when daytime and all its innocent lightheartedness tucks its head into the deep folds of lady night, there is still the memory of day. there is still heat in the trees and earth and water. curled up where the sun left it hours before. there is still hope. hope that the fiery sphere will indeed return after her night-time wanderings to different lands. she will return in a soft, pink dress, smelling of dew and pine with her hair up in a loose, fluffy bun. no matter how dark the night gets, no matter how far the warmth feels, we know day will come as glorious as it was the day before. we know it, because it's happened so many times before, but we love it all the more because we have known the night.