A Nocturnal Reverie

October 5, 2011
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Such an evening,
Not unlike any other, but still special.

It is calm.
In a distant cavern, the mother bear sits upon the stone,
Waiting for the last remnant of light to disappear under the horizon.
The air is cool, husky, scented,
With heavy fog sweeping slowly,
Gently,
Over the landscape.
Sleep comes,
And every eye becomes drowsy,
And finally,
Closes.

Silence.
A pure quietness,
Ever so peaceful, and serene,
A beautiful sort of silence, may i say,
One to sit in and listen to,
As if it were music.
But in this beauty,
Like with every beauty,
Something seems to be missing,
Something is waiting to come,
To suddenly appear, unanticipated.
I look around, and wait.

My heart pounds,
The owl sounds,
And with this,
The nocturnal reverie,
The midnight showing,
Begins.

The music begins low and slow,
A deep, full note,
The owl sings.

It lasts a long time,
Almost too long to bear,
For such a restless audience.

The suspense climbs higher and higher,
The salamander opens one eye, then the other,
And rises.
Each small, slick step sounds a rumble.
The bats flutter out of the cavern swiftly, squealing all the way
And begin their nightly flight.

Crickets chirp,
And in the river,
The current speeds,
And the water rushes, roaring, splashing,
In delight.
Oh,
And the toad,
Which by day, sits grumpily upon its leaf,
Jumps to join the great display.

In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright,
Becomes a joyful dance,
All are connected,
All are one,
The drums of the owl,
The harmony of the wind,
The rustling of each bush, the tip tap of every raccoon,
It’s an orchestra now.

All notes play, high and low,
In accord,
Wildly, passionately, playfully,
Even carelessly.
And so, the notes begin to fly even faster,
The pitch soars higher, and louder..
The fireflies spark their flames, and a hollow orange light brings new fireworks.
The Yelps, shouts, screeches, purrs, and croaking,
Are of utter glee.

And suddenly,
The performance slows,
And there is silence again…
One by one, each firefly extinguishes.
Each creature crawls into its den, its hiding.

And the owl gives its last hoot.
So the Olympics of the night,
The rare and spectacular world class dance,
The magical dream,
Have ended.

And now,
Morning.





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