In far of the distance, just outside in the world, that is beyond one’s home. As the windows slowly opened upon the hours of darkness’s chill, a lone strip of sky is enough to see, but the wonders of what eyes wished to see, must step out farther than ever-so before.
In a rush to know the understanding, one eye’s would leave, the house’s warmth, and into the yard for a look of the atmosphere at a much better explore.
Neither at first nothing, lone rays of even moonlit blinds the air, thinning what is left, neither but nor far in shortening time. Just best of by, of the evergreen tree’s tip, planted years ago for it was to sign that of one’s growth; a joke it was but now, worth it for what it can give.
A whip; smooth and wide, of a passing winter cloud, cascaded; as a growing scar: leaving the night to blacken more as spilled ink. Hours it would feel, as the winter has taken a small toll on bumping one’s skin, but the wait is sure to be worth it.
Puffs edged of breathing air echo’s softly into the night, waiting, and nothing more else as the eyes of the seeing look with a sight of glee, in the passing hours of night. There, in a distance of the fairways of space, it glows, brightly and profoundly.
Alone, but severely-so, it was a beautifully one.
A star of an orb made an unknown but mysteries that outline its radiance of brightness. Even from a world such as this, with elements that stands an odd comparison to others, to be that of the tree or the home where one sleeps.
That night forever lasting remains, to the hour of the linger, nor come of that chill discoloring, but much so alarming of this charm of an spell this sphere of illumination could do to one, in any chance to catch, nay by hand, but by soulful ogle of speculate.
Even to try catching with just one’s eyes, is something that takes the right effort to pull through. But once it has been caught.
Graced upon, for the small enjoyment it gives, all the time before, leaves little hatred to the tiny glow.
Leaving, of anything else, nothing more but rush back into the house of warmth, with gleeful peepers and calling it a tried goodnight.
_MG_7678 edit1 by David Peters
Year of when made; 2014
Location when taken; Kentucky, USA
Link for more works by David Peters: https://www.flickr.com/photos/124082064@N07/sets
