Moon Turning Full

[rejectomorph]

Gauzy clouds scatter moonlight, and soften shadows. Hours are a drifting of vague gardens, now paving the vacant street, now painting a patch of wall, now vanishing among trees, as the moon glides west. Imperceptibly, the tableaux of light shift, but the world grows less and less bright as the night draws on and the looming pines engulf the glow. A breeze makes the few remaining beams flicker through shivering needles, the sinking white fire banked, the darkened forest floor home to a few sparkling sprites of light soon to dart away. A moment of darkness only, before the eastern clouds begin to glow and cast the growing light of day earthward, waking the birds who slept all night, oblivious to the stately dance for which their music was not required.

Comments

[rhodamine.livejournal.com]

a little tangent for you:

i dont often comment on your enris- sometimes, they seem so complete in and of themselves, so full of imagery and beauty, that no comment is necessary. but rest assured, every time i pass one on my friends list, i give it a little closer read than most of the other entries on the list... in this vast lj sea of banality, your stories about seasons and the moon and breezes always make me smile.

[rejectomorph]

Thanks. These pastorals are the result of living in a place where clouds passing by or a spider spinning its web are the most dramatic things that happen for weeks on end.

If I still lived in Los Angeles, my entries would have a lot more explosions. I miss that sometimes. I remember once reading an interview of Stravinski, done when he was living in rural Switzerland, and he said that sometimes, when he heard the gunfire of hunters in a nearby wood, it made him nostalgic for the Sunset Strip on a Saturday night. I know how he felt.

[rhodamine.livejournal.com]

the grass is always greener... as someone who lives in a busy urban place, i miss the pastoral stuff.

thats probably the #1 reason why i moved to brooklyn from nyc proper!