Autumn Night

The moon hangs in the air like the white scimitar of an Arabian Prince.

The amber and ruby colored trees sway in the biting jaws of the wind.

The nocturnal animals dance in the moonlight as a ballet dancer soars across a stage.

The wolves cry to the moon, as if they were conversing with the lunar body itself, telling their tales of woe.

The shrill whistle of the singing wind speaks to the calm air calling it to rebel against the stillness.

The sentry of the night, the owl, sounds his continual call in the distance, "who, who," as if to challenge the identity of the night and autumn.

The air smells of fire burning the sky and the wet sweetness of frost on dead leaves.

The resinous sent of the trees rises to meet the icy chill of the autumn night.

The bark of the tree is rough like the tongue of the cat.

The moist earth is covered with the silken blanket of sodden leaves.

The call of the night to be experienced can fulfilled in the senses.