Night time (Re-write)

The Palm trees remain still as if frozen in a trance. I imagine, above the palm trees watching us sleeping, she sits there motionless. A reflection of her mate, the sun.  A beautiful woman in a blue essence sparkling. Whispering.
"Good night my little stars"
and I knew she was speaking to me. The light breeze gently brushes against my skin. The Palm trees dance to the lull of the wind. Again. They always seem to be dancing so care free from this horrid reality.

"How do they do it?" I whisper