The wind chimes clink a sweet melody, blown by the soft evening air.
The fire is dying in the hearth as we say our good nights.
Some head out to the porch to listen to the sounds of the night,
Though I and the others head off to bed.
A coyote howls out in the forest, maybe on the cliff I found walking earlier.
My bedside candle is lit as I open my book.
As I read I listen to the calls of the owl, asking “Who is still out there, on this starry, cold, night?”
I blow out the flame and shut my book just as I hear them coming in.
I turn my head on my pillow and slip off into silent slumber.
Wondering what the next dawn will bring.