It’s a still night as the half moon asks the world below to glow gently back at her. The breeze but wafts once an hour to ask for rememberance, acknowledgement, before she rests once more over the cricket chirps down the hill. Even the traffic waves a hum, threading through the night to restful ears. Somewhere else someone hasn’t stopped.
But here, here is peace. Shadows nestled their edges into the ambience, easing their blacky saturation. A leaf nudges another and yet another on occasion, a reminder of neighbours and community, then sighs as a plane carries yet more to and from the global village. Who knows where those souls belong anymore. But here, in the stillness, it doesn’t matter.
The ribs ebb with the frogs’ croaks. The clouds flow with the rivulets underground. The night beds in for the starlight.
One by one, the bulbs and the screens will go black, my dear, and then we shall all connect again in universal breath and beat, dreaming towards whatever tomorrow brings you and I. And somewhere in us, when the fire of the sun charges the world to chaos and clamour, this night will be in us still. Still.