When things nocturnal scram before they catch fire in the light

Finally the cold air. I think I've taken my last walk without my gloves or scarf. For a while, at least. But I might start carrying some garlic with me. The wind from the past couple days has blown the leaves from the trees. The cool white moon makes the bare branches look like lurking skeletons in the minutes between dark and light. My heart races when the winter hum in the air is shattered by a twig snapping beneath something. I imagine it's a werewolf and tell Cheyenne to stay close. A chill travels up my spine, but it's too dark to know. I walk away from the trees and into the open grass area, gray and dull by the light of the moon but safer than the trees. Slowly, the sky takes light, becomes a grayish blue. I start to breathe a bit easier. Then that riotous sun breaks onto the scene like crashing symbols, sending gold swatches streaking across the park and chasing all scary night things right out of the picture. The morning is loud and vivid. Alive.

The simple transfer from night to day.