Dear Diary- Sonder – Journal #4

Dear Diary,

Who else is looking up at the stars tonight? Maybe the richest leaves carry dreams that are being lifted into the clouds, into the heights of heaven. Where else do the distant diamonds flash? The sky’s light has dimmed to utter darkness but a multitude of desk’s are only just coming alive. I can almost hear the simultaneous clicks of a thousand switches as if they were a chorus of crickets.  The gregarious buzz of the day has morphed into the poetic passion of the night. Perhaps the world’s greatest love poem is being composed tonight…or an undiscovered philosopher is roaming the moonlit pathways barefoot and in solitude.  Perhaps there are people wishing upon the waning upon the moon in the hope that some of its tidal power will bore down on their lives.

A shuddering whistle blows through the clouds’ crevices. It shocks the sky and slithers down to the heart of the hour. This sudden stream of torchlight ricochets off our planetary dome and flits back down, parched scrubland eagerly waiting its death. Within a few moments the land is alight and raging up into the onyx backdrop.

Who is there to witness this incredible act of nature? There was no fire reflected in any one human eye…or at least that we know of. I am suddenly struck with what can only be described as sonder. I have the complete lack of knowledge of what another has seen unless I am told, but even then, I could never truly grasp the feelings any particular act has lent them. What does it feel like for one’s nostrils to be completely encapsulated by sizzling smoke? What does it feel like for your eyes to crack as they look up at the sky with fear?

At this moment, as I write to you, my diary, I am drifting alone in the night. There is an incredible array of galaxies decorating the sky, a deep dewiness soaking through the grass, and a marvellous sense of being completely alone in the world while also knowing that there are people living and breathing and thinking right beside me. The whole world is asleep on the outside. The eyes to the home have been drawn closed and the openings to heart of the things have bolted shut.

My body is perched on the corner of my street, the harsh fluorescent street lights markings the imperfections of the concrete and my skin. I’m outside at this silent hour in the hopes of perhaps seeing that lonesome philosopher walking barefoot through the night…or maybe to catch a glimpse or a pen hurrying across a page under a fuzzy yellow light. A knowing breeze sweeps in the spaces between my toes. My eyes become expectant as a stormy sedan pulls up in its driveway.

And as the car pulls into its home, shuts its eyes and bolts its heart, I reciprocate the actions and await the next naive night when sky would have shifted and I’ll be able to observe a new slice of the universe.

Yours always,

Cordelia.

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