Night Blood

How strange. Midsummer has passed and the stealthy elongation of the night is oddly welcome - for now. Under the dark of the moon there are sparkling motes of sound which make up the blood of the night: the hot silence between the rustling gusts of wind, the silver sparkle of the songs of owls, the sharp calls of the deer, the blood-song barking of foxes, and the soft and fickle ticking of water all around, still creeping under the ground unbowed by the heat. Under that strange blanket the year turns: the water hugs the clay under the shallow earth while the sun rages, just as the life of the earth will sleep in that same layer when the ice and storms return.