Something Cádiz doesn't have

It's summer time and the warm breeze weaves its way through the green leaves clinging to the branches, happily dancing through the dusk that has started to fall over this small country town. Green. The color of the leaves and the grass and the vines and the stems. The color of life and blissfulness of New England summers before the chill of autumn takes away all that is cheerful. From the green comes a noise. A high-pitch trill. A guttural chant vibrating through the now cool summer air. Another trill sounds in the distance, and another from a tree close by. With the light dimming, the chorus of the tree frogs takes over the night until their polyphonic song can be the only thing heard. The green disappears as the light fades away, making its journey out to the Pacific. The shadows of the trees and leaves grow and grow eating the light until all that remains is the glowing moon and sparkling suns far far away. A flash of light dots its way around the yard, floating around the sleeping leaves. Soon the stars have reached earth and waltz through my garden to the tune of the chorus anurarum. As night takes over the stars fly away and the summer night song stops to fall asleep with the leaves and the stars. Silence.