It is in the blackness of space that light travels safe and sound.
The blacktop road, artistic graphite in the dayshine, is pure blackness come the night.
Heaven's blackness birthed the stars, stars that awoke many splendid dreams.
The blackness was perfect, a sort of visual silence that gave a revered awe. With eyes closed there was the simple sweetness of existing, of being, of breathing, and how those moments extended with such grace until the dawn chose to bring back the colours.
Pure blackness, warm nights, a serenity of birdsong, these are the nights that dreams become technicolored.
Mother earth knits the blackness as warm comforter to the settled soul, the one whom is at home in dayshine and starshine all the same.
The blackness becomes my blanket of protection, a place for my heart to beat quietly in steady rhythm. All that comes to me is the warmth the sun gave to the daytime and the sounds of the other animals who love the night.
The blackness will show you what gives light and what reflects it.
In blackness the inner light is easy to find; it is as the first star upon a clear night.