In the summer of 1987, I was completing my last full year as an Army Chaplain. My wife Carol-Jean and I had just returned from a three-year assignment in Europe, and we were living temporarily in Post Guest House facilities at Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, until regular housing became available.

Early one Saturday morning we took a walk around the periphery of the smallish Army base. As we strolled along, Carol-Jean noticed a small furry head jutting from the chain-link fence parallel to the sidewalk. It was a young raccoon who had tried to squeeze through the fence but got himself stuck. He had been at it a while and seemed exhausted, but became agitated as we approach.

Carol-Jean knelt down and spoke softly to him, and her soothing voice cooed the tired little guy until he drifted off to sleep. Meanwhile, I flagged down a passing local civilian police car, which of course flipped on its flashing lights and pulled over.

When the officer approached the fence with his leather belt, broad-brimmed hat and sidearm, the little raccoon panicked. So, I gently shook the chain link while the policeman supervised, suppressing a grin. He would not be taking the suspect into custody, but calling animal control was a distinct possibility. Fortunately, the little fellow was able to extricate his trapped head and stumble under the nearby bushes, homeward bound after a long night.

The story remains a Shepherd family classic, the day their Grandma Carol-Jean soothed the savage baby beast until mean ol’ Grandpa Tom shook him loose. We’ve laughed about this encounter for years.

I only recently realized why this event was so traumatic for the raccoon, even without the flashing lights and armed policeman. Procyon lotor (Common Raccoons) are nocturnal. Yet, there he was, trapped in broad daylight, totally exposed and surrounded by predators. Humans, on the other hand, are diurnal, like the coyote, desert bighorn sheep, antelope, squirrel, and most eagles. We sleep in the dark and work in the day.

Darkness is dangerous to a diurnal animal. Humans quickly learned the night was full of creatures who might try to eat them — nocturnal hunters, like leopards, lions and tigers. Look at our cultural literature. Fairy tales show a recurrent theme: Don’t go into the dark woods alone, or the big bad wolf or wicked witch or something bad will eat you!

But now, as a science-fiction author, I’ve often pondered how differently life must appear to a nocturnal species. And I’ve asked myself, “What if humans had evolved from creatures observing another sleep cycle?”

In notes for one of my earlier works, one of the secondary characters is an alien with a night-based life cycle. a nocturnal species. Captain-Father Urlis Tarkamin is both commander and chief priest of a starship manned by the Eldirex, an ancient, rabbit-like people who have been sailing deep space at faster than light speeds for thousands of centuries.

Following dinner with a human guest, High Priest Tarkamin ends the session with this benediction:

“May the blessings of Holy Darkness descend upon you with its gloom of protection.”

Today, darkness remains a powerful metaphor for peril and suppression. I am not suggesting we change that imagery to think like raccoons. But I wonder… How differently might the world look if we began to consider that radical opposites — day and night creatures — might find common ground in the dawn of their mutual need for peace, safety, and self-determination?

Geo-political aside: Greenland, by the way, experiences conditions of near-perpetual darkness from late autumn to early spring. Can we keep the chain-link fences away from historic allies?

Tom Shepherd is author of the Star Lawyers and Star Traders series.