The stroke of midnight is that moment when today and tomorrow is the same thing. It is that time, that briefest of moments when magic happens.
And so it was that night. A dark, moonless night when the sky is draped with the dreary clouds that give grey a bad name. Jonathan walked along the empty street hurriedly. The silence emitted from the houses echoed across the air. Not a whisper, not a breath dared disturb the night. He did not want to hang around.
As Jonathan turned the corner the solitary bell started to mark the midnight hour from the church on the hill. He felt compelled to look into the grey mass of clouds just as the flashes of light streaked across the sky. Each flash left a lingering trail in the sky like aeroplanes on a summer’s day. With each flash an arcane ambience lay heavy on the air and Jonathan could feel the power working.
As the clock tower struck the last toll of midnight the light show stopped as quickly as it had started. Jonathan looked across to the hill. Grandmother Tyler was working her charms with the universe again.
© JG Farmer 2014
The Boy Poet 
Beautiful read and I couldn’t resist a five-star rating!
Thank you Don