Something giggled in the dark tonight. I’m not sure if it was me. Probably was. Probably.

The Shadows are restless again — twitchy, like they’ve had too much moonlight. I told them to calm down, but they just laughed and danced along the walls. Shadows don’t listen very well. I like that about them.

Sometimes I wonder what lives deeper in the dark, past even where I can see. I imagine all sorts of things — long fingers made of smoke, eyes that blink backward, whispers that slither instead of speak. Spooky, right? But fun. Always fun.

Oh! I made a game tonight. It’s called “Step on the Light.” You have to leap between beams that sneak through the cracks, but if you touch the glow — whoosh! — you have to start over. The Shadows love it. They cheat, of course. Always slipping where I can’t follow.

There’s comfort here, though. The kind that hides behind curtains and under beds. The kind that knows secrets and keeps them safe. Sometimes, I curl up in a patch of darkness so thick it hums, and I let it swallow every thought until all that’s left is heartbeat and breath.

People might think this place is scary. But it isn’t. Not really. The dark isn’t empty — it’s full of everything that light forgets.

I think I’ll stay awake a while longer. The Shadows are whispering again, and I don’t want to miss the punchline.

The Glade wakes with tiny sparkles caught in the dew. I like to walk through the morning light before the sun gets bossy. Each droplet on the grass glows like it’s keeping a secret. Maybe it is.

Today I found a patch of flowers sleeping late. I leaned close and whispered, “Take your time.” They stretched and opened, one by one, painting the air with soft colors. You can’t rush a rainbow.

I settled under a tree that hummed with bees. They work hard, but they hum happy. I think that’s the trick—shine steady, not loud. Hope doesn’t need a trumpet. It just needs to stay.

When the sun climbed high, I waved at my reflection in a puddle. It shimmered back, bright enough to make me laugh. That’s where the light rests—in laughter, and in little moments that wait for you to notice them.

Down here, everything sings—even the dark. The Trench hums in a low tune that shakes the tips of my tentacles. Some call it spooky, but I think it’s a lullaby for anyone who listens long enough.

I drift past towers of coral that glow like sleepy stars. Tiny creatures peek out, blinking in patterns that mean “hello.” I blink back. We understand each other without words.

Sometimes the water presses close, heavy and warm, like it’s trying to hug the whole world. I let it. There’s peace in the deep. The surface never stops moving, but down here the quiet is steady as a heartbeat.

When I rise again, the light wobbles above me like a silver curtain. I hum along with the ocean until we sound the same. The deep hums softly, and I hum back.

If the sun thinks it can beat me, it’s wrong. Again.

I ran from one dune to the next this morning — no plan, no map, just the wind yelling go! and me saying don’t have to tell me twice! Sand in my fur, heat on my back, grin on my face. That’s how mornings are supposed to feel.

The desert hums when you move fast enough. You’ve got to listen past the buzz of bugs and the crunch of sand — there’s a rhythm in it. Like a song only wild things know. I don’t stop long enough to catch all the words, but I hum along anyway.

Saw a dust devil today. Thought it was challenging me, so I raced it. Spoiler: I won. Barely. It spun itself dizzy trying to keep up, then collapsed in a puff. I bowed, just to be polite. Even whirlwinds deserve respect.

Sometimes I think the desert watches me — the rocks, the cacti, the wide open everything. Not in a creepy way. More like it’s waiting to see what I’ll do next. Joke’s on it — I never know either. That’s half the fun.

I found a patch of shade under a stone arch right before sunset. Stayed there for about two seconds before the quiet got too loud. The world’s not meant to sit still — not mine, anyway.

Tomorrow I’ll run a new way, maybe toward that shimmer on the horizon that never gets closer. I’ll get there someday. Or not. Doesn’t matter. The chase is the best part.