A laugh — but smile no more.

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A pale face upon the sky, wields a grim smile.

A Night has cometh and spreads its dark shroud. Painting the pure white clouds with a sinister wicked tone and then hangs them to loom about.

A Night has cometh.

A man walks on a road through small forest. One cannot but wonder — how is it that during the nighttime these beautiful green groves turn into foreboding places? The sunset’s last rays of light create long dark shadows that overlap us and create that feeling of an impending doom upon us. One must leave the sanctuary of the forest and seek refuge elsewhere. But nature is everywhere and one cannot elude the forest by simply running away. The fields have eyes and forest has ears. A journeyman must find shelter by escaping away from the surrounding world. Find a cave and block the hole or enter a house and lock the door. A man can’t but to bear the feeling that during the day he may be the king, but during the night arises a different rule. One may walk, run, crawl or limp, but the last warning of the gathering of red clouds by the sunset is truly your final chance and lasts only a moment. Our senses go wild as they try to adapt themselves to the level of the nightly creatures of the forest. The darkness renders a daywalker blind with its thick black light. The heart pounds in the chest like small locomotive spurring with adrenaline and encouraging us to hasten our footstep or simply to indulge the instinct — and to run.

It was widely believed – and in somewhere it still is believed– that the nature took a shape of many spirits and ghosts. These beings would be benign as much as malevolent and would thus describe the powerful and unpredictable nature of the forests and creeks. No more. No more. No more can a mere bush or willowy tree scare a grown man. The once mighty green forest wears a dull grey tone of man-made ash and factory fume. Where lays the enchanting spirit of the many creeks, now brutally crippled and pooled together by a sturdy wall called a dam. A man is king of his fiefdom and jewel of the finest creation. By what right does this forsaken future seek to deny us our birthright? Let us take what is ours, chew and eat our fill.

A man. The master of many inventions, machines, automatons and others alike. One tries hard to be a god. But still — when the match burns through the darkness shall come. It comes forth and surrounds us. It looks upon us and consumes the weak light of the burning match in a penetrable wall of dark mass. And finally when the final match burns out, one is alone. Alone in the dark.
No matches, no light. No factories to do the bidding, no easy credit to max the debit. No food to eat or land to reap. Neither shelter nor sanctuary. No creeks or rivers, forests or fields.

A pale face upon the sky, wields a grim smile. And then a laugh — but smile no more.