The flowers were in full bloom, under the soothing yellow light of the moon.
A wayward pine bent and stooped down very low, it danced and swung in the breeze.
To the song of the night, it swayed
As it caressed under it, other smaller trees.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle was sharp and everywhere in the air.
The crickets chirped away and the owls, they stared with their hollow eyes, into the darkness of the night.
Cold and unforgiving at the eleventh hour,
The creatures of the night come crawling out.
Their cruel eyes, filled with bloodlust,
Make quick work of anyone unlucky enough,
To cross paths with them among the murk.
Dangerous as it may, the night is also tranquil and a place of being and necessity,
For what uncommon in the day,
The night brings with it and whisks away,
The sunlight to trade it for dying light.
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