A few nights ago, when it was so windy the moon was under covers, I took out the trash way too late. Hating winter’s chill I ran out and pushed the huge trash can up to the sidewalk then stopped. Across the street, behind the row of houses, I usually can see the farm land and beyond. Even on moonless nights there’s a sort of arcane ambience that allows me to see at least the form of the land if not details. But on that night all I could see was a solid wall of blackness from which came a screaming wind that forced the trees to tremble in its wake. I was afraid.

It was a strange fear because it wasn’t my normal phobia of acts of God (like tornadoes) but this completely irrational terror that was tingling up my toes across my skin and near the back of my ears. The Blackness was, to my mind, too concealing…too occult…holding the land hostage and threatening to overwhelm that small row of homes and my own as well.

As I trotted back inside, embarrassed at my speed, I was grateful that the blackness did not extend overhead and out to the back of my home