The darkness folds in outside here
not to lighten
before nine in the morning
slowly turning to light again

nights are pitch black
beautiful onyx nights
that carry on their cupola
stars
just as the ceilings
in ancient Egyptian graves

silence fills the void
almost an uncanny silence
that makes one stop up
to listen

in the woods
the moss has grown so thick
and green
it almost resembles snow
passing through the many trunks of trees
we marvel at its coat

some beautiful rounded stones
making imaginary secret chests
a tiny fir growing on their velvet tops
one stone is the shape
of a pointed kind of pyramid
with moss at its summit
looking like a miniature mountain
with clouds on top