The moon's light creeps around the edges of my curtains in my dark room causing me to get out of bed and pad silently down the stairs so I can stare out on the snow covered gardens, lawn and woods to admire the beauty of the midnight hour.
The moonlight pouring through the downstairs windows of our house is like muted sunlight. Shadows lay across the snow cast by the barren trees. Wicked shadows, shadows which hide the coyote as it hunts. Shadows only disturbed by the silent wings of an owl searching for prey.
It is not a fat, warm summer moon which calls out fireflies and moths to flit among the night flowers and grasses at the edge of our woods. It is a cold, hard moon, high in a winter sky. It brings out a beauty of a night world in sharp relief. No warm air to caress my face as I step out of the door to look at it. It entices with it's hard beauty and cold light. It draws you out into the bitter night air to look up at the sky and see the stars laid out in a black sky.
There is no sweet scent of a summer night, instead there is a dryness to the air, a sharpness. The only smell on a cold night as this is the smoke rising from the chimney. The mingling of maple, cherry and birch wood as it burns to heat our home.
Inside again, in the warmth of our home I hear the creaks and groans that are the house settling down on it's foundation. It makes me think that the moonlight itself is gently trying to work it's way inside and if it does, we will float up into the sky, and become the moonlight.We will be forgotten by those who knew us. Nothing will be left of the house or it's foundation. There will just be the gardens which will go wild, and the woods which will close in on the lawn.
It will all be a dream that happened one cold winter's night when there was a full moon.
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