He was sitting alone next to the open window, just watching and listening. The Earth was whispering something to him in his dreams this night and he was chasing after her words. He had felt that familiar shiver when he sat up in his dishevelled sheets, he knew right away what this was.

Now he was sitting and listening, watching and waiting. The moon was full and had a slight hint of red to it, Mars must be close to us again, he thought. He oversaw the green grass of the backyard and the trees with their black silhouettes in front of the not yet fully dark sky. It was still early, considering his usual bed times. The sun must’ve just fully vanished behind the horizon.

He strained his tired eyes to see beyond the trees and the mountains in the distance, looking for a clue, a notion, just something that would justify him sitting here in his pyjamas. It was to no avail and he yearned to close them again, sleep felt like the most wonderful dream right now. The moment he followed his wish he started to hear something.

A howl from far away was coming closer. He felt his face heating up and start to tingle, a smile grew on his lips. The wind came closer and closer until it reached his sitting figure. A familiar stroke, a kiss found its way to him and took him with it.

He found himself feeling light as a feather as he followed this call blindly, it has never led him astray before. The wind gave him direction as he soared up higher and higher, feeling no need to open his eyes. He already saw everything that needed to be seen, now it was time to listen.

He heard the stars giggling and laughing.
He heard the trees whisper among themselves.
He heard the mountains sing in deep tenors.
He heard the rivers scream with joy.
He heard the moon say a ‘welcome back’ before it went back to watchful silence.

As he was flying above all of their different voices it became more and more, the animals, the stones, the flowers, everything started to form their own sounds. They all fell into the rhythm that the earth, the soil that sprung them all, gave them.

It was a song of beauty and heartbreak, of power and mystery, of hurt and comfort, of love and pain.

And he was the one that listened.
He handed himself over to this song and listened. His whole being felt the voices of them all combine inside him. He felt himself fill up with this beauty, pain and power. It was almost too much.

It all came crashing down when his first tear hit the back of his hand.
He felt himself fall again. A free fall from thousands of miles and back down to earth.
The impact never came.

He opened his eyes, gasping and heaving for air.
It was all so much and it was all inside him. Every emotion and feeling was inside him.

It took hours before his heart came back to its normal speed. Hours that he spend looking back outside at the moon, letting his tears fall until they soaked his sleeves. He knew what he had to do, he felt it so deeply in his bones, in his very being. Something was shaken, like he woke up from a long coma and he felt it with every sob.

As soon as he was able to move again, though everything was aching, he made his way over to his desk. The words were flowing freely now that he knew what the purpose of this sleepless night had been. All of it was accumulating inside himself until it spread across the paper.

One sheet after the other flew to the ground, few stayed on the desk and the look in his eyes was determined. But now that all of it was on paper, he had one last thing to give.

The sun rose above the horizon again once he knew what he had to do now, after he had received such a gift. His hand moved across the paper again and he ignored how much it hurt to hold the pen already.

The sun stood high in the sky once he was finished. The sheet held the first poem in a long time that he was proud of. He moved back to his space on the window. His voice was raw, barely over a whisper and yet he felt the strength of his own words. It made him stronger to give back after he received.

The bright star seemed to rise faster after she heard him speak, the birds seemed to chirp louder, the colours of nature around him seemed so much brighter. Mother Earth seemed to approve of his letter.

Only after his usual alarm clock signalled that it was time to get up he left his seat on the window. After hitting the button he felt strangely different. The occupations of the day seemed to matter little after this night.

In conclusion, if you were to enter Michaels house on this particular day, maybe because you had a meeting with him or were expected by him, you would find that he hasn’t showed up neither to breakfast, nor was he in his office yet.

And if you were so bold as to look for him in his home you would find him in his bed surrounded by dozens of sheets of paper and full of ink stains but with the most content smile on his sleeping face.