Yesterday I walked in twilight for the first time in a while and watched as the world dropped into monochrome. Moths, pale and fragile as ash moved in the lane that still held warm air from the day.
Tonight I walked in the dark. In the east the sweep of light from the lighthouse illuminated low cloud in a pulsing rhythm. To the west all starlight was eaten by the ink dark cloud. From each a bridge of glorious lights, too deep to imagine, arched. In this time of the dark moon even the gingercat looks black as he walks beside me.