20th Nov 2006

Nights chill and darken with every day that passes. The blessed land slumbers still and damp lit by a crescent moon that accentuates the hushed longing for summer. Steely hued yet soft it casts shadows likes a cloak woven with threads of silver. A mantle of mystery to wrap a gilded landscape in. Soft footsteps and gentle breath wind among paths long tread under arching beeches. Sylvan descent indeed are we who leave the world behind and embrace the cool delicious nights of winter.