The Settling of Night

I’m sitting on one of those inexpensive seasonal patio chairs on our back deck, thankful that Tarn’s skillful sewing has provided back and seat pads to make for reasonable comfort. I like to write here, surrounded by grass, trees, shrubs, and flowers—and the critters that feed on them. I am attempting to set down a few words on the challenges of artificial intelligence when I notice a hummingbird feeding on the columbine flowers in our garden.

The words on my laptop seem crass and hollow compared to the beauty of natural design, so I delete everything I’ve written and continue watching the diminutive bird hover and sip, alternating between blossoms. My mind unwinds and relaxes into the simplicity nature offers—a juxtaposition to the convoluted winding of thoughts moving in my mind just moments ago; artificially intelligent chatter.

Now, the columbines sway in the evening breeze as the once vibrant colors begin fading into the shadows of approaching darkness. Everything settles into the quiet anticipation of night. Birds sing their last songs, the wind melts into soft whispers, and only the distant thrum and whoosh of motor vehicles breaks the silence. A sudden last gust of wind rises up and swallows that noise; the murmuring limbs and leaves seem to know the world could use less traffic sound.

I swear it works for a moment; no discernible traffic—everything is still. It is time to close up shop, let the laptop cool down, and surrender into the cool evening air. The night creatures will now have their say.