It's addictive, this season. Cascades of leaves in a sharp pointy rain smelling suspiciously of memories, and cold nights where the sky dips down to kiss the earth with the barest tease of ice. The heavy sun and the slice of silver moon both get into your blood, one chillingly, achingly cold and the other heating every single nerve, both singing different songs in your veins.
There are no other night like these, are there? Nights when the dying full moon casts itself on the undersides of the wispy clouds, throwing shadows through the darkness above. Nights when it is so still that the stars don’t even twinkle, but steadily exist, sharper in their shining than cold white steel. The silence so absolute that a heartbeat echoes.
These are the best of nights, yes?
1 comment:
Its amazing how you paint a picture so well that I actually feel how I feel when I'm actually experiencing what you are describing. Thats amazing.
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