It was getting late. They could hear cars driving by in a distance.
The sky was black tranquility married to a poetry of stars. It was the softness that called body and brain to rest and let the heart go to its steady rhythm. Night came as a reward of sorts, a restfulness above to calm the soul. In the serenade of the black, the stars are a choir; they are lights that sing in infinite patterns. Sometimes eyes need music, and the darker the night the sweeter the song. The black night holds me close until the dawn, always my cloak until I am ready for the dawn. It is that friendly blackness that allows my eyes to rest and let my dreams take centre stage. The pure black of the night is my comfort, the blanket of generous velvet that keeps me safe. It is the pure black that makes the moon so
