Close your eyes and let the distant chorus of frogs settle over you like a dark velvet curtain across a summer lake. A single nearby croak breaks through the stillness — the kind of lonely call that makes you feel less alone in the quiet. The soft lapping of water against the shore keeps time with your slowing breath, pulling you gently toward rest. This is the sound of being held by the night, where melancholy isn't sadness but a deep, tender awareness of being alive.