One of the more upsetting traits of human nature is that we are all too often our own worst enemies. Standing on the threshold of a leap into the unknown, our forlorn impulse is to habitually opt for the already-familiar rather than pairing a dose of healthy skepticism with a willingness to embrace change for its promise of opportunity. I’ve always been a bit of a night owl. Dusk is when I finally have time to think. Presented with the good fortitude of a chance and endorsed by John Clare’s vision of throwing daylight’s fears away, at that time I finally allow myself slow, long-limbed thoughts and to arrive at the conclusions of the eclectic. Then and there, in moon’s cool but sufficient light, coincidences transform into omens before my very eyes. As I listen to the lunar rhythms spanning the sky, I feel the amplitude of my thoughts, each one of them suddenly filled with connotation. Here, in this ritual landscape, the day’s recess helps me translate hesitation into trust, suspicion into credence. Here, I can see the way. Here, I feel at ease, reassured to cross the threshold, the threshold into a new kind of good. Here is the covenant of tomorrow.