Nights cut out frills and get down to the bare bones very fast. They soften the contours to gray outlines. Like poetry they suppress needless details, abolish borders, make a sky of the earth.
The tree stands there brooding in the dark forgetful of its death by last year’s lightning. They even put night birds on its branches. The night fields are a vast promontory where the sky and the earth become one as if the paddy is actually grown in the sky.
In the night the bushes behave like moving, as if they are lazy bears on the wait for food. Mountain in the distance stands abolished. God knows where the clouds went from its top. Everything is drowned in the night of the sky.