The cold of night greets me as I open the front door, uncertain of where this night will take me, uncertain whether or not I want to leave the warmth of home.
I look up at the stars. I think of the many people that have looked up at these same stars. I walk slowly over the snow. The crunch of the snow beneath my feet echo into the night.
I have no plans for where I am going. I needed to go somewhere so here I am going somewhere. Into the cold of night I go.
I’m alone as I am so much of the time. I think of dreams, the only place I am surrounded with people, dreams I’ve had over the years.
I walk. Christmas decorations top telephone posts along the road. The library is closed. The only sound is the snow crunching as I walk. I like being out in the night with the stars above me and the snow beneath me. It’s freeing to be out here with only my thoughts.
When I return home I will remove my clothes and climb into my warm bed sans pajamas. I will dream dreams with people I have never met and will never meet. I will go to places both imagined and real. Places I have been and places I have never been. Places I will never go in my waking life.
I walk because I have nothing else to do. Memories come to me. Memories often come to me when I am near a familiar place.
The park with trees everywhere. A path circles a stream that runs through the park. A small bridge with iron rails crosses the stream. A playground nearby. A great place to waste time when it is not covered in snow.
Time is strange when it comes to memory. Things of memory become distorted. The waking life and the life of dreams are sometimes confused for one another. The line between the two blurs as memory sees the two as the same at times.
I walk on not knowing how long I shall walk but I know that by the time my head touches my pillow the sun shall be rising once more. This walk unplanned. I go where I go with no reason other than it is not walking backwards. I will circle back to my house and find a warm bed but for now I keep going forward.
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