The Witching Hour

There was a time when I never noticed the moon. It existed somewhere above me, quietly changing shape while I moved through life without ever thinking to look up.

Now, I cannot take my eyes off it. I crave it, how it changes and resets.

Night after night, it finds me. Suspended in the darkness, pale and watchful, as though it has been waiting for me to finally notice. Its light does not simply shine. It reaches. It slips through the windows, settles beneath my skin, and pulls at something buried so deeply within me that I no longer remember its name.

There is something haunting about the way the moon lures me in. The longer I stare, the less certain I am that I am the one watching it. Perhaps it has always been watching me.

The Witching Hour lives in that strange space between wonder and surrender, when the rest of the world has gone silent and the moon becomes impossible to resist. I once passed beneath it without a second thought. Now, when it rises, I wonder what it sees in the darkness while we sleep and what secrets it has carried through centuries of silent nights.

Perhaps that is why I fell in love with the witching hour. It is the only time silence feels alive, filled with everything the darkness has witnessed and the moon has chosen never to reveal.

Available in print or canvas print.