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rejectomorph

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Night Walk [Dec. 17th, 2003|04:27 am]
rejectomorph
Thickening clouds allow a mere ghost of the waning moon to penetrate, and the sky around it is brighter than the ground where but the dregs of its light fall. The forest is wrapped in mystery, dim and darkling, yet not utterly obscured. I hear an owl hoot, and wonder what its keener eyes see. Though the night remains cold, I sense a warmth in the darkness, as though I had been wrapped in its cloak, protected from the prying breeze. The owl might see me, but I could slip past any human gaze as easily as a wraith -- the air so dense, not even my muffled footfalls would betray my presence.
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