creeping crescent

It was the final hour from day to night. The sun falling over the ocean and its melting garden of roses flooding the sky. The leaves rang softly as whispering bells of the forest, spilling secrets to only the most attuned of ears. The trunk with its far reaching branches and its deeply filled flute singing those ancient melodies that ring and rise from the center of the earth. And that forest floor, onto to which all these secrets fall, soaking secrets for ages. There lay a girl there on that forest floor, there in this very atmosphere. Her eyes falling to sleep, her dreams acutely attuned to these magical happenings. In this final moment of light, her dreaming body then rose from that very real solid sleeping body of hers. She saw it sleeping there with her own still dreaming eyes. She felt herself as light as those gently singing leaves and the soft sleeping sea. She rose there for only a minute or two, her body silent and simple, still and listening. As that last ray of light sung out from that sinking bleeding sun, she too fell back into that sleeping solid body of hers. Her eyes open and awake to those solid still bodies of the forest and the creeping crescent of the night moon.