The sun is sleepy. It slowly falls off the horizon to wake another time and place. The dark of night descends. The moon shines brightly. The stars sparkle on the black sky canvas.
The grass is cool and prickly. The air seems clear and refreshing, leaving goosebumps dancing across my skin.
The sounds of the night engage my senses. Hooot, hooot says a wise old owl. Crickets tweet to each other in romantic song. A gentle breeze gets caught in the leaves of a nearby tree, rustling it every so slightly.
As I lay on the grass in the backyard looking up at the luminous moon and millions of twinkle twinkle stars sparkling down at me, I wonder what magic is taking place up there.
Are there fairies polishing the moon? Do they fly around sprinkling star dust? Are they perched on stars having cups of tea?
Are giants roaming around smashing diamonds to create the stars that sparkle for me? Do they throw them to one another for us to wish on shooting stars? Are they the ones making the thunder through the rain of their tears?
When I was younger, still living with my parents, I loved nights like these when I could be alone to imagine whatever I wanted, fairies or giants. The night and I. It seemed I was the only one looking up at the vast night sky. And sometimes that was all I needed.
There is something magical about night.
Do you think night is magical?
Linking up today with the lovely Zanni at My little sunshine house for Sunshine Sunday writing to her prompt ‘Night’.