the night isn't asleep. it's eyes are closed and it is listening to the voice of the moon. below, lovely thick moss reaches upwards to the beautiful sky and remembers other nights. it hears the soft wind and feels safe. moss is so green and it is like the forest's pillow for those who walk along it's quiet, hushed paths.
the secret language of moss is the air flowing between each lovely strand. it is nearly a laughter, but a quiet, sweet happy laughter that is gladness and soft.
the trees can speak to the moss. they know each other's languages; they are really not that different.
