It’s not the kind of thing you notice. It follows six car lengths behind. You’re driving to pick up prescriptions and secret candy because you are always getting prescriptions these days and you find yourself wondering why does everyone have on their high beams. People are jerks. You find yourself wondering when did it start getting so dark so quickly. Not realizing that it is you who are dimming. You find yourself lost, again and again. Losing familiar streets and landmarks like drugstore reading glasses as the night becomes a light smeary Thomas Kinkade Christmas Village. My periphals draw in. Trees lose twigs. Signs become hieroglyphs as I weave around headlight sparklers. I’m no comic book hero; no additional senses are heightened, no heartwarming gain of gratitude for new-founded wisdom. Went to the eye doctor and was told my eye health is within normal range for a person of my age. Night blindness as inevitable as gray hairs, as indignant as the small type menus. So I hurry to beat the night. Maybe it’s fitting after a life of recognizing subleties that a generous chunk of my world goes black and white, dark and light, bleary brightness to inky surprises. I read somewhere that nearly a quarter of the brain is devoted to vision. That could be false info tucked in my brain betwen the origins of po-boys and a group of turkeys are known as a rafter of turkeys. If true what if a quarter of me is not me, no longer me, Who is this older person speeding through the alien landscape? When will I be my mother, my fathers, abandoning night drving all together. Not yet, not soon, but one day just around a corner I can no longer see.