Crickets commune and fireflies blink in tall grass.
The sky seems almost purple now, and the tall pines are silhouettes of black that slowly meld together into one vast expanse of darkness.
An tired and worn old dog, probably resting on his front porch, barks in the distance, breaking the silence.
And I am called out into it, the created basking in the creation.
The heavens are telling the glory of God;
and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours forth speech,
and night to night declares knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words;
whose voice is not heard;
yet their voice goes out through all the earth,
and their words to the end of the world.