Green grass absorbs the moonlight, but where the grass is parched straw yellow, there are bright patches. So is decay exposed amid lushness by dim light. Certain paths which thought takes are like the moon, waxing and waning, sometimes vanishing altogether, barely seen by day, but in darker hours exposing some things more clearly, by diminishing others. What I see when my thought is on those paths is that the built world is like dying grass, stands out as in relief, a vivid desiccation unable to borrow life from its surroundings. Reflection in darkness reveals more than does the false cheerfulness of day.