In the velvet cloak of a New England summer night, Nature herself becomes the orchestra. Crickets lend their ceaseless serenades to the air, while the barred owls offer ethereal calls from the darkened woodland canopy. Katydids add their own repetitive refrains, as if echoing the distant cosmos. These sounds surround you as a wall—an auditory tapestry woven in the loom of twilight. Just as the heavens produce an ineffable music of celestial bodies moving in the cosmic dance, so too does this nocturnal concert serve as Earth’s own symphonic tribute to the universe. Governed by the same cosmic laws, stemming from the same unfathomable source of life and energy, both are but different stanzas in the same eternal poem, each note a whispered verse in the universe’s ongoing dialogue with itself.
Trail Wood,
9/6
In the hush of a New England night
Crickets whisper secrets,
A chant, a hymn, a soliloquy to the stars.
Owls hoot,
Messages transcending from darkened boughs,
Yet another echo in this cosmic conversation.
Katydids keep the rhythm,
Syncopated beats that tick away the endless moments,
Mere droplets in the vast ocean of Time.
Each note, each trill, each call
Is but a piece in the grander score,
The universal symphony that plays on
Both in celestial spheres and earthen alcoves.
As you stand, enveloped
In this wall of sound from every direction,
The boundary between Earth and Universe blurs.
The crickets, the owls, the katydids,
Are they not also stardust?
Breathing the same cosmic energy that fuels galaxies?
In this harmonious cacophony,
You are the conductor and the audience,
The created and the creator,
The question and the answer.
And just like that,
The unseen forces align,
The celestial and terrestrial unify,
Two sides of the same coin,
Turning endlessly in the cosmic cycle
Of life, death, and rebirth.
Everything you see
Is a reflection of you.
Everything you hear
Is an echo of something else you don’t.
Everything you feel
Is given to you,
You don’t choose.
Unseen forces,
Like gravity, are always in play.
Synchronizing
And unifying.
And so it is,
A circular tale that has no beginning,
No end,
Just an eternal dance
Of sound and silence,
Form and formlessness,
As one turns into the other,
In an endless loop
Of cosmic poetry.