Whilst you dream...

It’s dark outside now. Every twenty paces streetlamps stretch like tall giraffes into the dense, black sky, their heads glowing gently and pleasantly like warm amber beads suspended in the air.

The moon hangs in the sky; milky with balmy whiteness, and glowing in its light sliver-frosted grass winks back like an old friend.

The night buzzes with shimmering silence, humming with energy and tension, waiting silently for nothing to happen.
At the far end of the street stands a tall brick wall, crumbling happily at the top, and sends crumbs of moon dust twirling eerily to the ground every time the wind rustles.

Leaning against the wall, an ancient tree, small and wizened, sighs contentedly, his velvety leaves laughing softly when a shivering current tickles his bones. He looks up at the cloudless sky, and stretching his gnarled, ancient arms upwards, sweeps a thousand fingers through the icy air, playing his own age-old game.

Now the stars start to dance in the night, and spin delicate tangles of glittering opalescent light…

The night is alive as we lie, as dead men do, silently in our beds, and translucent silvery dreams dance and twirl above our heads… We sleep.
The stars, and the trees, the moon, the grass...
They do not...