The soul takes it's breath at night, in that peace when the loudest noises are dreams, when the smells of freshly damp earth and leaves, tender scent of night flowers hangs like a kiss in midair, when moths dance with the moon reflected on leaves and on transient pools of puddles left after rain showers in dry creek beds, when soft crickets sound and the wilderness sighs of sleeping creatures and branches creak in the breezes and the silences of star framed silhouettes rear.
This is the soul's breath, that dark reflective water is the soul's drink, those
footsteps are her own, and she crawls through the tangle of thorns to
get there and the moon chases her down the mountain, playing with the
path to light her way.