The night offers a resting place when all city noises are subdued, and the single passer-by is nothing more than a faceless silhouette on the other side of the street, where your shadow rises to dance, back , forth and around, at every street light you pass, and night-lights on a high-rise remind you of stars you …
At night, out on the deck beneath a moonless sky, surrounded by the emptiness of the purest shade of black, in where shadows do not exist. Just I, and the sound of water within the deep of darkness
Shadows in the wind, whispers, voices from the past of those never to return, lovers lust for love in twilight's of the days, travelers on the road in search of a truth, purer than their own.
Against the cold winter sky, the trees are just like living statues of an unprecedented art, with their branches that look as reaching hands dressed in black woven lace, and softly moans when they have to bend their crowns, as deeply as the wind desires.
The storm has passed now mist trails the dawn in the stillness of the creek the reflection of a tree leafless, accepting its branches were shaken.
Under old river bridges there live water witches, when the wind is gone, and the moon hangs high in a velvet summer sky, you might hear them giggle, whisper, when they fulfill children's dreamy wishes.
Tonight the chimes don't know silence, and every time the wind comes around, a tree branch plays autumn rhapsodies on bars of the balustrade, but the leaves, the leaves fall so silently.