The moon rises

The moon rises

over the hill

yellow-orange in youth

the world stands frozen.

The smoke rises

as the fire burns on.

Sparks flicker

and the haze blinds.

The stars shine brilliant,

the jewels of paradise.

Glowing like gems

in the night sky.

The water ripples in the wind,

glistening in the moonlight,

moving yet calm;

relaxing, peaceful.

The trees sway,

moved by the breeze.

The smell of pine

flows from the branches.

Music plays

down the path.

Volume low, it

disturbs not the serenity.

And the cars flash by,

humming in the distance,

motor noises

blend with the wind.

The sand flows

over the ground,

like the mist

of yesterday's rain.

Nature surrounds

enveloping, insulating

all from the imperfect

keeping, shortly, from pain.