| Placid |
[Aug. 26th, 2005|06:03 am]
rejectomorph
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Competing with only half a moon, and that for only half the night, the stars kindled in the clear sky, the galaxy floating like a strew of tiny white petals on a dark lake. Agreeably cool, the serene air barely stirred the leaves, and the pines were silent all night. Long hours passed without the sound of crickets or barking dogs, nor anything that crept or flew. No owls hooted, no nighthawks cried. Rarely, I heard a car moving along some distant street, but those nearby remained deserted.
Gradually, the half moon rose to shed its pale light, and then Orion slowly hove up from the dark rim of woods. Not until late did the arrival of the noisy car bringing the newspaper briefly interrupt the calm. In short, it was a perfect night. It went a long way toward redeeming the overwrought days of summer. Now it is vanishing into a strangely gray morning, and the acorn woodpeckers are chuckling. The misfortune is that the day will be hotter once again. I will close the windows to hold in as much of the lingering night air as possible. At least I can be sure that the next such night will arive fairly soon. The best nights of the year come in late summer and early fall. This was the first of many. |
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