When the night comes, when the moon spills silver light on the slipping waters, it is then I feel your presence, a breeze against my dream. The stars flicker like thoughts, scattered across the dark, every one a certainty, a beaconing through the void.

The world is hushed, anticipating the symphony of nature— crickets strum their evening tunes, each sound a thread of connection in the fabric of evening. And I, a quiet observer, marvel at this cosmic dialogue, orchestra of creation, a tapestry woven in silence.

• Pablo Neruda