Descent of Heaven

[rejectomorph]

Fog appears, and the light of the unseen moon drifts down to glow from every hovering drop. The breadth of the world is reduced to a few hundred feet, and at its borders vanishes into gray mystery. All I perceive is contained within this quiet, luminous space. A few spots of brighter glow indicate a porch light here and there, and an occasional passing car, its sound muffled, sends a bowl of pale light before it and drags a faint red glow behind, then disappears. The frogs have ceased to chorus, the night does not resound with the calls of passing birds, and no beast's footfalls disturb the serenity. When the cars have gone, the only sound is the occasional drip of gathered moisture dropping from the looming trees. The pervasive smell of dampness is better than flowers.