In the Still of the Night

(Barn Owl)

In the still of the night
I watch the moon rise.
As clouds float by
a single cricket chirps.

One begins.
Another follows.
And suddenly a vast chorus fills the night,
then ebbs only to begin again.

Warm breezes stir the trees.
Their leaves shimmer in the silver light.
They sing their own song by the thousands.
Their soft sounds follow the wind as it passes by.

I hear a millipede.
Its myriad legs rhythmically fall one after another.
Each step a tiny tap, a steady beat on dry leaves,
a crescendo, then a decrescendo back into the night.

Like a fugue, one melody chases another,
this time a medley of frogs and toads and coyotes
pursues the songs of Night Hawks circling close then far,
calling, calling calling.