The Surreal Night

My dad likes the morning.  He’s up at the crack of dawn, before most everyone else, and he loves the way the worlds looks and feels at that time.  I however, like the night.  I’m sitting here in front of my house at 3:30 am; the insects are active and loud, the air is damp and sweet, the world asleep.  It’s surreal.  Everything else is quiet aside from the night creatures.

My dad likes the morning, I like the night, but I think we like them for the same reasons.  That’s kinda how we are; in many ways the same but just a little different.

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