The dark can be scary. It changes pretty, sun-lit woods you walk by during the day to a creepy, monster-filled danger zone you will only pass by in your car. The window you look out of when you're relaxing on the couch reading a book on Saturday afternoon frames a view of freshly mowed grass, colorful flowers and stately pines. At night you shut the blinds so you can pretend that nothing is lurking in your backyard trying to peer in your windows. An old, historic graveyard is the perfect place to walk your dog after breakfast, but you wouldn't be caught dead there after the sun goes down.
But the darkness is not always full of hidden dangers, scary monsters and frightening shadows. The dark can be magical. When I drive through the neighborhood during daylight hours I see houses, some new, some old, some well-kept, some not so much. Some neighborhoods are street after street of cookie-cutter houses with small touches of individuality here and there. Others are house after house of mine is better than yours.
Yet when darkness falls everything changes. Lampposts come on, solar lights illuminate pathways. Garden statues become animated; fairies hold up tiny glowing lanterns, a lighthouse slowly turns, lighting the rocky path of a garden, angel's wings throw soft light across peonies and roses.
No more my house is better than yours. No more cookie-cutter houses. No more some old, some new, some well-kept, some not so much. The lights that the darkness bring turn them all into a Narnian lamppost-lit forest of soft colors, tantalizing shadows, back-lit flowers and twinkling lights through slightly moving leaves. If you're lucky the moon is full and adds an extra special touch of awesome. And every season has its own unique variation of colors and lights and wonder to enjoy.
Magical.
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