Everything disappears when night falls. Our eyes cannot discern the individual needles on an evergreen, or a sparrow in the branches. And when we cannot see something it is gone. Right? 

Before my parents realized I was near sighted as a teenager, the world was fuzzy. I remember believing that if I could not see those people across the room very well, they could not see me either. Then mom took me for an eye test, and the world suddenly came into focus with glasses. 

There is a renowned test by Piaget where he shows a child a ball, and then hides it under a pillow. The little boy or girl believes that the ball no longer exists. Psychologists find this way of thinking fascinating, in its imperfection. 

"Try looking under the pillow," urges the tester. With unbridled glee, the child discovers that the ball is real again. Whether it was gone and came back, or never really left does not matter. The ball is here now, and it is time to play. 

Then, when we forget to notice the faithful message of the earth's rotation, darkness falls. Love grows dim.

An adolescent relationship, one that has not fully matured yet, can be duped by the illusion that something you cannot see has vanished for good. Our partner looks less appealing in shadow. We are still who we always were, but he or she has diminished somehow.

Another thing that retreats with the light is warmth. A few years into marriage the feelings grow cooler. Somehow we manage to miss the constant reminder of changing seasons, and the earth's shifting temperature.

"Spring will come in April, but my affection for my partner is lost forever," the inky thoughts slink in.

Angels find these thoughts sad, in their imperfection.

Suddenly we rediscover our love. Whether it was gone and came back, or was simply hiding does not matter. It is here now, and it is time to play.