Night's Requiem.

I took a walk again tonight. It was a frigid night.

There's a field in the neighborhood. I found myself there, for no particular reason.
There was frost on the asphalt.
Up in the sky, the moon gleamed in a pool of black ink. So bright. Pale as a bone. Cold as ice.

In the empty field, the moonlit grass stretched into a dark haze of trees. Not a soul in sight. Not even ghosts.

I laid down in the center of the field. The chilly night air blew through the grass, creating rippling waves.
And the ghosts descended. As did sleep.
When I woke up, the sun was barely tinting the sky a dark blue.
I couldn't stay there all night.
As I walked home, I kept my eyes on the brightening sky.
And as I walked past the cold, bright streetlamps, the night came flooding back.

The ghosts. Frost. Weeds. Grass. Bone. Frigid. Soul. Trees. Waves.

But then the vision became too vivid to bear.
I was on the ground. It was quiet as a graveyard.

And then I realized it.
There was no one here.

And as I lay on the ground, the ghosts descended again. I didn't move.
And I spent the dawn in the company of ghosts.