Saturday, July 4, 2009

Moonbeams and Firefly Havens

Dawn is a treacherous thing. It always seems to come suddenly. The girl far preferred dusk. Why, the day only begins so it may end, she thought. And isn't the ending a fantastic deal indeed? The end begins at three in the afternoon. The windows grow weary from so much light, and the dear sentient sun takes pity upon these flat transparent beings, dimming and departing.


And it is slow, like a damask Victorian funeral processional, that the evening comes to be. The sun flees, a wanton traveling salesman to the day, pettying the wares of presumed warmth and shamefully dressing itself in cloaks of vagabond clouds. The sun is a petty and overrated thing, sometimes. The girl is happy to see it go this eve. Night seems much calmer--and the Princess Moon much more a composed extrovert. The moon does not care for gaudy displays of affection; she floats in her cosmic void as silent as a dove.

She welcomes day's unwanted creatures, too. She is not one to judge.

There are fireflies living in the garden now. The strike their lanterns as soon as free from the sun's maurauding, suspicious glances.


They play around the trellises and hum around the garden-gate. The girl finds them merry things and does wish more to come.


Soon it will be high summer, and the nights will be as sticky as caramel taffy. Slowly one comes accustomed to this, though, as it is far more comfortable being nocturnal than facing the sweltering of the day. The smoke of candles and burning incense is suited better for night anyways, mimicking cobwebs and whisking one away to some gauzy tale out of the Arabian Nights.

The girl has been listening to these three synth songbirds lately. They make her think of summer things, and the season is due for summer-things indeed. Here is a snippet left by a finch for your own viewing:

Best wishes and shining, treasure-like thoughts to reader[s] and dear browsers.

More shall be writ quite soon.