As midnight passed, the half moon rose. It has remained low, trailing thin veils of cloud, partly concealing itself behind the pines to the south. Its wan light, dispersed by the vapors, allows the tress to cast only the most meager shadows, and the night is neither bright nor altogether dim. Only the silhouettes of the trees among which the moon drifts are truly dark. Contrast is otherwise diminished, the landscape softened, a visual counterpart to the whisper of the pines as they are brushed by the northern breeze. Earth's shadow on the moon is almost perpendicular now, as we near the equinox. The passage from winter to spring has been drawn out this year, but tonight it feels as though it is truly well underway. Few such moody nights as this remain for this season, I suspect. Too bad. I'd be happy to have dozens more.