Night

Tonight I roamed a hot, muggy, darkness.
Filled with moments of
hushed and muggy sounds.

A screech owl's voice echoes softly,
as do the grinding sounds of neighborhood crickets
and the reverberating hum of a lone cicada.
all seem to still the flow of moments
that ease us toward
the real world of sunny daybreak.

3:00 AM.
quiet.
this the world longs for,
Here in my wood clad suburban nest of quiet.

For these few hours
there are seconds...even moments of a silent world
that enfold and can free any mind.

The earlies
with their lyrical, avian voices
in chorus with a coming sun,
(almost newly born)
can hold such promise -
quiet can be found
long before the sun dares shadow
a scorching, droopy eye.

Soft, and silent, this space affords a joy
not found within harsh, or painful confines
of any world news.
No buzzing,
not even flickers of feathered wing
traversing this space on daily flights
to far reaches of down-feather's skyways.

the owl and bat,
silent,
still,
can command all above,
and all that lives along the edges here.
even the hush from a single star
reaches the street with a wand
of silence, spreading such wonder.