rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Clear, Bright

With moonrise, the arachnid shadows of bare trees began their slow creep across the lawn. Drops of rain left by the evening drizzle caught the light so that the grass was covered by hundreds of tiny pinpoint moons. Other drops fell from the trees, less frequently as night passed, like metronomes gradually slowing to a stop. Very late, when the moon was westering, a large owl alighted on an upper branch of a bare oak. I stood at a spot from which I could see the bird silhouetted against the bright orb. I expected to hear hoots, but they never came, and the owl finally flew away with a loud fluttering of wings. Soon, the town will emerge from darkness, and I will close it out, remaining unaware of its daily activities. I intend to dream of that owl.

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