Following an unintentional nap, I went out to wake myself with fresh, cold air. The high winter moon had broken free of the flocks of little sheep clouds which had earlier shrouded it, and shone from the midst of a giant circle of clear sky. Now that the mulberry tree has shed enough of its leaves, the moonlight can scribe its twiggy shadows on the wall. I watched them scroll for a while, the arcane glyphs slowly inching up as the moon sank toward the western woods. I might have watched longer, but my ears grew numb with the cold. I've read that scroll before, anyway. It's all about how time escapes, and the futility of any attempt to capture it. A gust of breeze rustled the remaining leaves as I returned to the house. I'm pretty sure they were laughing at me.