||[Nov. 10th, 2003|05:52 am]
The clouds depart, and the big moon drenches town and wood with its light, lending a sparkling glaze to damp fallen leaves. The brightness deepens the shadows to utter darkness, and voids the sky of all but the most powerful stars. What warmth the clouds held in has gone as well, and the still air is sharp and icy. There is always a slightly sinister quality to the place on nights such as this. I prefer the moonlight to be softened by clouds. Too much is naked now, and too much concealed. Harsh contrasts do not please me. Yet I can look forward to the bright afternoon promised by this clearing, should it be sustained. But, if I intend to see much of it, I must get to sleep now. Luna is about to be dismissed by her imperious mistress the Sun, under whose warmth the damp will be dispelled and night's secrets revealed.|
Ooh, how's that for lurid prose?
When does the raven haired dame with a figure that won't stop come into your P.I. office and shoot you as you take a swig of cheap rotgut?
Dames. They're nothing but trouble. Her long gams were such a distraction that I used the word lurid when I inteneded to write florid. I wouldn't wish someone like her on my worst enemy. That's right, not even on Bill Gates.
I like lurid. It matches the pr0n better.
2003-11-10 06:56 am (UTC)
The sun can't reveal all the night's secrets
That's just not fair. The poor moon. The sun is such a tyrant.
while i was reading it felt like i was picking my own mind
a soothing attic a warm balm & a sensitive capricorn
a long drawn out note from a lute