Several nights ago I stepped outside Heartwood and looked up to see a delicate filigree of leaves inked intricately against a moon-light sky.
Often when the moon bleeds its light into the sky I walk to the barn and swim through the collected pools, light wavering and brilliant, fluid, entrancing. I find it interesting to dynamically challenge my perception of the unknown. Would I rather walk through velvet, thick, black night, or glide through pools of moonlight knowing the darkness is always shifting?
I turned my head while walking from the barn and was struck still by a banded sky of orange and blue... fluff-edged clouds diffusing the brilliance of a setting sun into the vibrance that was the rest of the sky.
There is a profile of a woman's face in twisting branches intertwined and dried flowers - a woman with windswept hair.
Often when the moon bleeds its light into the sky I walk to the barn and swim through the collected pools, light wavering and brilliant, fluid, entrancing. I find it interesting to dynamically challenge my perception of the unknown. Would I rather walk through velvet, thick, black night, or glide through pools of moonlight knowing the darkness is always shifting?
I turned my head while walking from the barn and was struck still by a banded sky of orange and blue... fluff-edged clouds diffusing the brilliance of a setting sun into the vibrance that was the rest of the sky.
There is a profile of a woman's face in twisting branches intertwined and dried flowers - a woman with windswept hair.
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