ERIN L. MILLER

Nighttime is frequently a place of comfort for me. A space containing that atmospheric hygge quality. For soft music and home cooking. The insomniac’s landscape where musicians occupy packed bars. Any small thing beating against the dark that becomes more obvious when not competing with the bustling day (lamplight cast from a neighbor’s window, a single car moving down a street, hushed syllables from distant conversation). When dark and light touch noses at the hour of the wolf. It’s a place for artists, dreamers, and workers burning the other end of the candle.