I don’t really have insomnia but I wake up frequently at night. In fact, I awaken completely after every dream period, and sometimes I’ll get up and wander the house, usually to have a look out the windows at the dark world. Last night was one of those nights.
Around 3:30 A.M. I had some fragment of a dream about a talking head in a box. I got up and wandered for a moment, and ended standing by the glass doors leading onto our deck. The moon was pouring its radiance gently into the yard. The black trees were backlit with an almost radioactive glow. I could see the ground where the moonlight pooled, and the ethereal shadows of the bird feeders reaching toward me.
Then I saw, clear and flawless, four footprints on the deck, crossing it toward the glass door where I stood. They weren’t quite human shaped. Nor quite animal. And they were almost fluorescent, as if whatever had made them had dipped its feet in a moonlight paint and was leaving drippings behind on the weathered boards as it walked.
For a moment, I even turned to look behind me in the room to see if the footsteps had come through the glass. They had not. But they hadn’t returned across the deck either. It felt as if whatever had made them was still there, standing across the thin glass partition from me. I couldn’t see it, but in the mirrored glass between us, with the moonlight beaming down, I saw its reflection. Or my reflection. Or maybe both.
What created the effect? Perhaps the moonlight was spilling through gaps in the deck’s tin roof. Perhaps it was refraction of moonlight from the wind chimes. Perhaps I had not yet completely escaped the dream state. Or perhaps! Perhaps in the moonlight there is yet magic. What do you think?