(no subject)
She shouldn't really be outside, not alone, not at night.
But the harvest moon, rising so yellow and lovely in the night was so unreachable and so heart-achingly beautiful that she slipped out the door, leaving her sewing and her work behind her, and stood at the edge of the lake, her arms tight around her, grateful for the warmth of her thick sweater.
"Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.
Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river:
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever."
But the harvest moon, rising so yellow and lovely in the night was so unreachable and so heart-achingly beautiful that she slipped out the door, leaving her sewing and her work behind her, and stood at the edge of the lake, her arms tight around her, grateful for the warmth of her thick sweater.
"Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.
Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river:
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be
For ever and for ever."