rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Moonlight glazes the high fog, which itself softens the moon that now hangs like a pale, yellow lantern amid the etched branches of the mulberry tree. The woodlands seem a place for secret gatherings and assignations these nights, where dim glades might hum with conversations, and laughter ripple like the gentled streams of spring. I imagine, too, the rustle of cloaks donned to ward off the chill of the April night, and the soft crunch of fallen pine needles underfoot as glimmering figures tread the long-disused paths, so lately winter-bound, where now the sweet breath of spring drifts, witness to the awakening world.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.