Elucidating Questions

In the swirl of the night, in the plume of the midnight birds,

The crickets begin wakening, the screamers will start to scream.

The nostalgia of sounds so loud they drown out all else, but the sound of music.

In any place, busy or empty, they sing, they scream.

Listening to them on the side of a hill, in the midst of the city, far into the mountains.

Resting weary travellers finding places to go and places to see,

Without having no together there is no we.

Simply a solo continued in the black of night,

On legs aching tired, and mind run dry.

The weary I hope sleep sound tonight.

It can be hard to hear, above the waves, but the wind carries the whispers of many a far away place.

Traveller’s gaze and trickster’s coin,

Choosing the direction we may be going.