A thousand twinkling lights, blanket the horizon. Stained with orange lamps, clouds rush overhead, obscuring the white globe that tentatively saunters across the sky. Sleepy heads rest while I sit above it all, observing the sleepless scene. Day break is miles behind as the darkness scares the wandering souls that consider themselves owls. The trees sway amid the harsh winter breeze, making a point of their menacing shadows that merge into the darkness of their heart. Fields of green turn grey; whilst waiting for colour, and the bark of dog owners, calling the astray mongrel that escapes their call. All is distant in the black that covers this land. Hazy visions try to remember where they reside, while truckers drive like they depend on the income it provides. The park bench once full and wanted has become desolate except for the bodies of the lost. The distance curves beyond vision, paths become alone and in solitude wet with the tears of the gods. My light accepts that it will not find peace, as its owner is an insomniac.
- Ian Wallis