Changing Colours of the Night
Hearing the world breathe in the darkest hours
1 min readApr 16, 2023
In the wash and buckle of campfire
life, the world is
still breathing —
I can hear the cicadas
play the trumpets at night
low notes rasping
against a supernova.
I imagine they have throats
as we do but
like some humans prefer
to speak to evening
as I prefer to speak
to a night sky when the
rest of the world sleeps.
I sit for hours watching
toads cross the highway
sense jasmine’s
perfume whispering.
When this world is put
away, I come out, all
creatures beside.
I am black in the night
while in daytime I am
less pure & unavoidably white.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
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