The calling of the night...

The night is calling… A pale moon rises beyond the distant horizon. Whilst marveling at the wide expanse of the Celestine sky, a brilliant ball of fire lights up… Gently illuminating the path it left behind… I offered a short prayer then uttered a simple wish… As soon as the words left my mouth, so did its light died down…

As vast as the space engulfed by the multitude of stars, I just couldn’t help myself think as to how small and puny I am in the greater scheme of things… If my existence could be like that fleeting flash of light, then perhaps someone, somewhere might have had seen it and likewise did what I have done. Paving for myself a gently illuminated path in the celestial firmaments like that falling star from deep space, gives meaning to my existence.

I closed my eyes, immersing myself in inner solitude. A fresh breeze billows on my tepid skin, along with it the effused sweet scent of the frangipani. I could hear the chirping of the cicadas and the noise made by the other skitters as they move about and sojourn. This melody has always been played day and night for eternity. I took out my harmonica and played a music befitting as an accompaniment to the earthly symphony of the night.

For a moment, I became oblivious as to what lay beyond me and all I could hear is the rich and soulful sound of my harmonica. The stirred passion inside my heart swelled-up as each note was blown. This poured forth a hidden cask filled with buried feelings of longing, and of melancholia. As these are being channeled out, the pain inside my chest gradually subsided. From then on, I could hear again the chirping of the cicadas and the soft rustling of the leaves brought about by the passing wind. For a split second, I could surmise that I am one in being with the night as the tune of my reverberating heart resonates with the sounds of the effervescent evening.

The sonata drew various onlookers who seem to play along with the melody. From where the frangipani tree stood, the scurrying wind let loose tiny miniscule lights as the fireflies emerged from their dark concealment. The eerie luminescent lights then danced and flew around as the effused scent of the frangipani lingered on as wisps of air waddled through. A faint hum accompanied the gentle zephyr as it softly blew and scuttled through the foliage as if it’s telling me to stay a little while longer. So I took its plea and continued on as I gazed for a while at the night sky whilst playing with my harmonica.

Then everything came to a standstill. The wind no longer blew. The cicadas stopped chirping. The other skitters were none to be found. The frangipani scent has diffused and what was left is a lone firefly. Like that fleeting ball of light I saw earlier, the firefly’s glow will soon expire. Then I realized, the firefly, small and puny it might be also has a place in the greater scheme of things. Though the light it casts is insignificant, the firefly too leaves behind a gently illuminated path. I uttered a short prayer and then settled on for the night.