By David Roth
© 18th January, 2005
“Whooo-Whooo”
The regal sentry,
Perched in stately splendor,
Announces
To the breathless and expectant audience,
The curtain is about to fall.
“The second act will begin
Gradually and momentarily.
Please enjoy this brief symphonic respite
We lovingly call twilight.”
The golden spotlight
Slowly dimming
No longer illuminating the bright eyed master of ceremonies,
Drops beneath the edge of the stage,
Casting long shadows over the orchestra pit.
One at a time, diamond like in the glowing distance,
Children of the sky turn on their night lights,
Blinking and swaying as candles to a love song.
And nightsong begins.
Hear, who have an ear to hear,
The NightSong;
The music of the night.
Gentle rhythm, constant and crisp
Of the crickets in the percussion section,
Occasionally punctuated by a rumble of distant thunder.
The Divas of Nightsong take their place
Accompanied by a chorus of ethereal voices.
Whippoorwill, Bob-O-Link, Dove, and Timber wolf
Backing the soloist
With a cacophony of harmonic praise.
The slim, graceful fingers of the southern pine
Stirred by a teasing breeze,
Hum along with lilting tendrils
Of forest scented applause.
Throughout the remaining moments of night
The song goes on.
Until, at last,
A new announcer takes the stage.
Sweetly, the Morning Dove coos his gentle proclamation
“Morning has come;”
But fear not, devotee of the dark sky symphony,
Nightsong’s music will return.
