Lunar Lighthouse

Unable to separate the ocean from the sky as I look to the right. A scene from a Robert Frost poem it seems. I don’t have to say a word; I know you see it too. The way the sky looks as the sun retreats to its raised bungalow, and the first star comes out to play.
We press on, into the waiting night. Racing shooting stars and following the curves of the Milky Way. The stars are waking up one by one, illuminating the cloudless sky. I can't remember when the last word was spoken, and I have no intentions of breaking the silence.
The Northern lights dance along with the faint music which escapes from our speakers. All the music seems to bleed together to the point that I cannot even decipher which album is what.
We burn these fossil fuels like they are going out of style and press on into the hillside, unaware of what monsters lay in rest for us. We don't fear, as we have the moon to act as out lighthouse, a beacon in the night sky guiding us along route 15 at half passed 2 in the morning.
"16 more hours" I whisper to myself....I hope they don't shun me for breaking this silent bond forged in a cool July breeze.