Memories stir at midnight. But it’s a seasonal thing.
The memories that go with the drop-dead middle of winter are not those of mid-summer. It’s not all sweetness, either. I can swing between sitting at a campfire to walking on icy streets.
The midnight memories are pretty exciting and do not bore. One time I woke at “0 dark thirty” in the heaving hull of a Naval vessel. I was late getting up for a watch.
Luckily, my wife woke me before some petty officer found me still in my rack, half asleep.