The silent hour

The sounds of night this night are soft. Feathery, if you will.
There is no mist in the air, but there is word of rain coming this way soon.
It seems as though there should be some mournful saxaphone music resonating in the distance. Not too far a distance but just enough to give it that echoey, mournful glow. Notes that shine. Sometimes they hesitate, then suddenly and smoothly move on again into the soul of the night.
These are the glowtrippers. Trip on that awhile friends. It does not end there. At least that is what has been said.
Not tonight though. Everything is still. Imagine the kind of stillness that only happens when sleep is aware of it. Such is the somber feeling of this hour.
Such is the glowtripper's moment of silence.
Sshhhhh...