For a long time now I’ve been uncomfortable out in the yard after dark.  Even with the porch lights on I am antsy and eager to get back inside to light and safety.  I’ve been thinking maybe it’s just that I’m nervous about Katie being so young, that if she slips her leash she’ll be off into the dark, but as I think back on it, I was nervous taking old Bonnie, the previous sheltie, out at night too, and she wasn’t on a leash and wasn’t likely to run off anywhere.  

I seem to have this vague dread that sits right behind my eyes, that something or someone is going to suddenly rush out of the dark and I won’t be able to do anything to save me or the dog.  So this early morning around 4, as Katie and I wandered the yard looking for the perfect place, I thought about this, peering into the dark, listening to the trees blow in the wind, jumping at the occasional oak leaf skidding across the asphalt.  I closed my eyes and tried to think about what exactly I was afraid of.  What did I think was going to come sweeping out of the darkness to overtake Katie and me?

And what I saw, what came instantly into my minds eye, what I’ve been blocking for oh so long now was a vision of something large, so large it blocks out sight, and it comes with a huge roar, bright light that blinds ahead of a large black nothingness.  That’s what I’m afraid is going to come out of the night.  Loud noise, blindingly bright light and then nothing.

So clear, what I am afraid of, and what I must be carrying around inside me.  It is the vision of what it must have felt like, sounded like, that dark December morning when Dad couldn’t save himself.