My favorite time of day is late at night when everyone else has already laid their heads safely in their beds and all is quiet in the house. When you can sit in a dimly lit room all by yourself and see the ghosts of the day stumble about themselves. Sit and close your eyes. What do you hear?

Perhaps the groaning of the old house's bones as it settles in for a long night's slumber. Or maybe you hear the wild dogs outside howling at the moon. But between these few noises, what else do you hear? Listen closely, or you may not hear it at all.

Silence.

In these last few seconds of the day and the first few of the next, everything dies and is reborn. All the worries you held close throughout the day can simply float off into the night sky, falling forever into the void.

The silence overwhelms you, it takes you by surprise when you least expect it, consuming you, filling you with this empty silence, filling you with emptiness. Through some strange reasoning it comforts you. It comforts you to realize how small we are, how large and vast and silent the rest of the universe is, ever growing and expanding.

You can feel the cosmos stretching its hold on what we call reality, reaching out into nothing and creating art as it grows, even the universe inside of you is growing and creating art. Humans by nature are art, inside and out, so complex, so vast and wide, so intricate, so unbelievably beautiful.

And yet, in these hours, this perfect time of day, we are so simple. After everything has been stripped away and we are left with just our souls, open and naked, and everything else just seems so simple. The universe, our petty problems, everything becomes so small and meaningless at the end of the day. Everything is silent.

That is why my favorite time of day is the time between days, that infinite chasm between breaths where everything is simple and nothing needs anything. The time is short in actuality, but when you sit and listen, it goes on forever stretching infinitely into the black everlasting void that is existence.

In that brief moment between moments, in that time between times, time stops, time itself ceases to exist, and in that absence of time and space, we grow infinitely, filling the void and giving it new birth. And so the new day is born and our precious time has come to an end.

But as this new day is born, we are filled with hope, for anything that is born too must die, and we look forward to this death and rebirth. It pushes it us to move through the day, beating on forward into the void, always hoping, waiting for something, anything that might possibly make sense of this madness we call living.

We move from this time between days and into the next, filled with the determination that tomorrow will be everything we could have ever hoped and dreamed for, and silently being overwhelmed with fear for that exact same thing.