All around me it is peaceful. The air runs over my body and sooths my aching, tired muscles. It is the cool of the evening, which for Fresno, is not that cool. The balmy heat hangs thickly and pushes against me. But the scene around me makes me forget it.
The mossy growth underneath my feet feels like a cushy sponge. The rock, my headrest, is cold and smooth. Above the velvet blanket encrusted with diamonds covers me in solitude. The crickets are warming up for their night performance as they argue over which one is the loudest.
I hear a rustle in the bushes behind me. It is a raccoon. The masked fellow traipses to the edge of the lake and washes his food. He loses it, and falls in trying to reach for his dinner. Finally he comes prancing out, fur drenched, and walks back into the bush, a simple acorn in his mouth.
The lake begins to speak as a slow breeze wafts in. The reflection of the moon on the waters distorts a myriad of complex patterns. It’s as though the lake wants to change the face of the moon, but can’t quite figure out how. A stronger breeze stirs the trees overhead, waking them from their lazy slumber. Dead leaves, dried and fragile stir the earth. In a kaleidoscope of muted beauty they rise and fall with the breathing of the air. Some fall immediately, while others linger. They try to reach their home back in their tree, but Mother Nature always pushes them downwards to the earth.
Somewhere an owl begins to hoot. He echoes the song the crickets are playing. I think he is a tenor. To me it sounds like the “Blue Danube Waltz.” All around the night is making music and creating magic. There are things it whispers that can never be understood by man. That is why it is so beautiful