I prefer to walk through life with my eyes closed.
    Perhaps it started to appreciate the gentle breeze that brushes the soft needles of a nearby pine tree. Or to hear the birds chirp and cry in the warm meadow that lies 5,778 steps from my house. But now my eyes stay closed because I am afraid of what I might see staring back at me.
    It was an exceptionally warm day.
    I remember the cricket’s laughter transform to whines of heat, and the grass’s dancing change to panting. No one likes the heat.
I was sitting in the meadow, the grass cold today and shaded by the trees, and touching every petal of the dandelions that engulfed the meadow floor. My chair. Her throne. The scent of flowers was frozen in the air, but I could still smell it. Bittersweet and complex, announcing the day’s arrival. The morning dew coated my feet, welcoming my presence with tentative devotion. The tree branches swayed in musical harmony above me, guided by the shivering wind. And that’s when I heard the voice.
    “You spend many days in this meadow,” she said to me, her tone icy in infliction. I was not startled. The dandelions held me tight.
“Who are you?,” I said.
“Me? Why you know me. I watched you come into this world. I saw you take your first breath, warm the cold air. I taught you so. I watched you, with my own eyes, grow tall and strong and beautiful. You know me. I’m the Lord of the Skies.”
I heard the lord rise higher, taller, giving off a stinging confidence. I patted the grass dry, looking for something to grab onto as she talked through me.
“So what are you doing here?,” I questioned, feeling a bird drop onto a lower tree branch, sending pine needles into my lap. I could hear the meadow’s outsiders complaining about the sweltering weather just outside the dandelion’s doors. My teeth chattered.
“Oh I come and go, day by day. I don’t like the night. The darkness is too cold for my liking.”
“But don’t you love the moon? The stars? I swear I can hear them sparkle, feel their warmth.”
“Oh, we don’t get along.” I could feel her eyes roll back into her head, rays of annoyance prickle my empty hands. I picked up a dandelion as she quickly changed the subject.
“Why do you not wish to see?,” she asked, her crown demanding an appropriate answer.
“Oh, I see. I see with my hands, my nose, my ears. I see with my heart.” She snickered.
“You can only see with your eyes.”
I considered it, her eyes staring me down, through my hands and nose and past my ears, pushing their way through my chest.
“Perhaps. But the light is blinding. I don’t much like it.”
“Oh of course you do! Who doesn’t love the light? The daytime is exciting, it’s innocent and joyful. It’s the night you should fear. I’m not with you at night.” I was tempted. She was the lord after all. Maybe just one peek. See what it’s like…
I opened my eyes to darkness.