I perceive an oddly hollow sound in the wind tonight, as though the town had been transported to some vast, echoing cavern. The sky, moonless and starless as it is, might as well be stone. Afternoon, overcast, turned sombre, and evening crept from gray to darkness so stealthily that I barely noticed the change. I'm pleased to still be sharing the night with frogs. Their song lends a shape to it. The concealed moon helps a bit, too, though the clouds have grown so thick that the poor light they transmit does little more than lighten the sky to make the silhouetted trees more stark. There have been periodic mists, icy veils sweeping through the merely cool air. I expect they'll turn to rain before long. I won't mind, but I intend to enjoy the mists while they last.
Completely different-- unintentional humor (unearthed by m_leprae):
West bean pays the fish a soup; The fig braises the lean meat. Man fruit braises the north almond; West the flower fries the rib a meat. Fragrance flies around the cocouat-wood; Burn the spring chicken.
This is the most hilariously mis-translated Chinese restaurant menu ever!