The moon, near but distant, full and brooding.
The mysterious glow of light that rests upon the surface of a lake,
Casting shadows on the water.
Shapes.
Tones of colour.
The whisper of a breeze, the rustle of hedges.
The moon hides behind a cloud.
All is still.
The observer walks away.
I Agree
Poetry is painting with words :D slc
Thanks.
Thanks.