Green grasses and colorful wildflowers.
I see them waltzing with the breezing air,
using the sounds of the wind’s direction.
It is like living in a house with a soft ground,
with a green rug full of dew drops,
and the most bluest roof so high above my head,
with an invisible illumination of bright light.
At night, all is dark and hazing.
But I can touch the sky now.
The invisible illumination of bright light is now visible.
Red, blue, yellow, purple, and green
all in one blurry and complex line.
It is like a long snake,
moving slowly towards me,
and I reach it with my bear hands but I feel nothing.
The northern lights, is it called?
Yeah, they are all everywhere above my head,
enchanting me to go to sleep.
The sounds of beautiful creatures become a lullaby to my ears.
The howling of a wolf,
the hoo-hoo sounds that an owl makes from somewhere beyond the trees,
the crickets make sounds too.
They are my nightingales,
and I don’t want them to stop.
Keep singing, my friends!
We are the dwellers of this earth.
Let us be nocturnal,
let us witness the parade of lights along this meadow’s taste.
This meadow, my friends, is our home.