The sky bursts into flame. Tendrils of orange delicately reach out and touch the pale blue blanket. Red petals unfold graciously into roses, giving the calm, serene surrounding a pink blush. The brush of Nature sweeps across the empty page, artistically painting the night once more.

Touches of deep, seductive red bloom slowly, like wetness spreading over the hillside, melting gently. Wax dripping down from the sky. The red meets fiery orange droplets. They are hissing, little flames dacing on an icy surface. Twirling and waltzing, experienced dancers in a familiar marble ballroom. Their dresses making swishing sounds as cloth meets cloth, laughter tinging the sweetly scented air.

The red swirls with the orange, the bride and the groom. The colours touch and kiss, then spurt up into a brief, dazzling display of lights. Better than fireworks, more enticing than Cirque du Soleil. They are dragons now, proud masters of the sky. Lord of the winds, riding upon chariots of thermals, beating down upon the sky with wings of sleek, polished, silvery feathers. Diving, swooping, wrapped in cloaks of silky fire, crowned with glittering starry diamonds. Their majesty covers the cold waters, and all bow low as their kings approach.

They make swift landings, then take off once more. Graceful, sinewy, scaly bodies caress the waters, feather light, then spiral upwards; higher, faster, performing lightning-swift turns, the two dragons form one bright, beautiful burst of glory. Then, gradually, slowly, almost reluctantly, they take their bows and fade away.

Final touches. The brush is raised; as though Nature is unsure of what is missing, hesitant. Then, the brush is placed uncertainly onto the page.

Black dots are flicked onto the canvas, quickly, hurriedly. They are scattered at first, but one swift brush stroke completes the masterpiece-a silent sentinel in the form of a pine tree. Outlined starkly in black, it stands out in the lingering warmth of the background. Then another few dots, another brush stroke, and the first guard receives his partner. It is smaller, but no less intimidating. It sways with the wind, bold and striking, just as outstanding.

Slowly, the flames subside. They retreat. Turning from a furnace to a paler, softer plum red. Comforting and kind. Gradually, this bades us farewell, as the brush is soaked into water, and wispy greyness fills the fiery spot. The clouds seem to twinkle with starlight, as the hand of the night brushes over this place. The clouds flower into stars, each one giggling as it takes its place in the patterned tablecloth.

A gentle wind flutters by, kissing me softly, wishing me a good night.

Another day has passed, and the tranquil night has appeared once more.

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