On these sleepless evenings, I toss and turn, I read, I pick up the laptop, and I eventually collapse in a heap or am lulled to sleep by soothing music or a guided meditation. Lately, I've taken to a form of prayer, reconnecting with the devotional self, a part of me that has lay dormant for far too long. My prayers are like requests for help, requests that I be saved from the runaway train of my mind.
Outside, it's a humid and quiet New England summertime night. Nearby, frogs doze in their frog beds, beavers snore in their lodges, and bats circle in the dark air, feasting on mosquitoes.
The other night, I heard coyotes in the distance, and it made me long for life on the road where we will hear many more wild sounds in the deep, dark night.
For now, I am comforted by a lamp, the glow of the computer, the sounds in the still night air, and the beating of my own heart.