It is night,

and the world is a dark place. No moon tonight, yet, and the night so dark we cannot see a paw or a whisker in front of our noses. A rich dark.
We are small in the world as we look up to the stars and a river of starlight flows across the sky, a cat's tail of light, The Milky Way. Starlight and satellite.
The houses and trees and hills are cardboard cut-out silhouettes in a paper theatre world of dark.
Nighttime creatures move in the stillness. It is not yet cold, though the year creeps towards winter. Frogs still move on the footpath from the house. The birds that threaded the hedges with bright colour sleep in crowded clusters, huddled for warmth and safety from the sharp toothed night hunters. In the stillness we hear only a murmur of waves on the distant sea shore. At night the beach reflects the stars, diamond light underfoot.
The wind is rising and dry leaf bones rattle on the autumn trees.
A shooting stars burns bright across the sky. We wish