Night

The sun sets with a brilliant array of colors. As the sun streaks across the sky, leaving pinks, oranges, purples and reds. It is a spectacular sight, but not as spectacular as the show.
The moon is up first, glimpses of it seen through the curtain of clouds. A shy object, the moon. It peeks through clouds, and hides behind them. Catching a glimpse on a night like this is hard, but rewarding. The moon is a beautiful figure.
The song starts with the strings; crickets begin, chirping. The tempo is slow and steady, building up to the winds. The winds play, as a breeze blows through the leaves scattered on the ground. Frogs and bugs are last to enter, filling out the song of the night.
Mysterious and deceptive, they swirl across the sky. Clouds, the carriers of rain, dance across the sky. Gliding along with the song, the clouds transform and play at the edges of the sky as they dance. When they finish their ballet, the curtains part, revealing the stars.

Pinpoints in an inky black sky, like diamonds in the rough, the stars don’t dance like the clouds, but they twinkle and sparkle, capturing the eyes of many. The stars are the sky’s artist, making picture after picture, painting them in the constellations.

The tempo picks up and the leaves start to fly, a myriad of airborne pirouettes. Streaks of gold, scarlet, and orange, make a miniature sunset dance across the stage as they make their exit, still spinning and twirling.

Field mice begin to emerge, scurrying around form place to place, beginning on their nightly routine, errand after errand, everything is quick with them.

Breathe in and you smell the dry scent of autumn. A slight smoky scent creeps in and swirls around, joining with the scent of fall. The rain that had taken a free fall from the sky left an earthy, fresh and clean scent. The renewing scent of rain joined with the others and gives you the scent of a crisp, lovely autumn night.

The crisp air hugs the beholder’s skin, leaving behind a trail of goose bumps.
The night song elaborates as you hear the cry of the majestic owl. A sharp hoot. Looking around, you wonder where the bird could be. Hoot. There it is again, then you see it. A beautiful white owl, swooping down.
This is where the excitement starts, as the bird is after its breakfast, a field mouse. Another cry and the bird swoops, its talons reaching for the mouse, but missing. The mouse seems to have won, but only for now as the owl swoops again, this time catching the prey.
Warm apple cider meets the lips of the audience. An apple-cinnamon flavor tantalizes the tongue.
The bare trees wave their branches in applause of the spectacular show of night. Shadowy fans wave in the breeze of the night.
The tempo of the song changes again, slowing to git the end of the show. The shy moon hides itself away again. The first glimpse of morning arises with a stroke of orange, painted across the sky; the show ends the way it begins, with an assortment of colors in spectacular vibrancy. The painting grows with pinks, purples and yellows, until there is a brilliant print in the canvas of the sky.
The sun finally rises and the wonders of night hide away until the painting comes again, and they start their show.





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