rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Waning Moon

As the moon rises above the trees, its light drops down the fronts of the houses across the street; pale facades, pierced by dark windows. The sleeping world. Earth turns, the light selects bits and pieces of the world to reveal; an oak branch, a mailbox, a patch of asphalt. A few strands of utility wire glisten like elongated stars. The pale sky reveals the shapes of things, but not the things themselves. Silhouettes blend and form new things; a row of pines beyond the orchard look like the heads of giant dogs looming over the apple trees, ears pricked up, listening for danger. Night is fragmentation and deception. Night is close and bound, and night is vast serenity.

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