Oh, the things that happen,

When the Sun isn’t looking;

Whispers down the corridor,

With phone calls from Wyoming,

Animal tracks on the lawn,

And doorbells with midnight snacks.

Lamplight flickers and Street Stalkers

Are ever present during the late night petrichor.

Sleep often keeps us as passersby to the Night’s lingering strangeness,

But Random dwells on the night shift, casting its uneven die.

Photo by Marty McGuire on Unsplash