A ritual of night time

Night. We have curled the evening in warm sleeping dreams by the first fire in a few weeks, melting cats, then out into the night to walk the bounds of the village with dogs before deep sleep. The sky is bleached of stars by the half moon and the silvered pathway awash with deep pools of shadow. Not a breath of wind, not a moth, not a leaf stirs. All is silence. The night belongs to the cat's eyes and is bright with sky dancing bats.