Alone

In the darkness the moon bathed the ocean, as it arched its back, and lightly caressed the sand at the foot of the island. Here she sat, peering out to the swathe of blues, black and silver. It was surprisingly bright in the evenings on the island, an untainted kind of bright. The kind of lightness that was around when the earth itself gave birth to the word she thought. And the sound? The night was full of noises but at the same time hushed and quiet. As she strained to listen she could make out the birds slow and soothing evening song entwined by the growing sound of fruit bats waking up to the night. Through the hum and buzz of the multitude of insects came the soft creaking of the trees in the breeze. She had felt the wind all day but only now did the trees seem to wane, bowing to kiss the sand upon which they lay rooted. It was night that was true, but it was full of a different kind of light and a different type of sound. She thought she was alone, then faltered at the word. To be alone, she mused.