The woods are awash in moonlight;
the only sound a single pine needle
tumbling from limb to limb
in search of ground.
It leaves trails of lingering sighs,
or is that the moon
whispering sweet nuthins?
My back against an oak,
a carpet of leaves beneath my feet;
stars wink through a gauzy wrap.
Fog mingles with the sound of sparkle
as if it knows
this harmony is another miracle.
Somewhere back there
in a world
beyond the trees
a light shines from the kitchen window,
the refrigerator hums,
the heart beat of a clock
adds cadence to the night.
Swaddled in the familiar
my sigh mingles with the time.
this singing silence.