Winter, dry soil, lonely garden, naked bushes and bare branches. Then, suddenly, night. 
Darkness veils the night, across the garden, a house the color of sweet mustard; 
All these things compose a picture of the world before me... when looked at by daylight, the garden becomes a world less enchanting... but tonight, every nook and corner by the cold white light of a full moon is beaming with mystery and enchantment...
I look around me; my eyes searching the unknown... there is a strange weird beauty, a beauty which reminds me of a place I’d never seem, but vividly lives in the recollection of dreams and hunted places inside my imagination...
I see the frozen roses moving. They seem to have eyes and teeny tiny mouths. Sometimes their mouths open showing rows of bright buttercup teeth. Could they be singing lullabies to the moon, or are they just trying to warn me that something is out there, lurking in the moonlight... something in that dark corner, silently watching me?
It is the voice of the silence... The boundless, endless silence it might be, for that’s all I can hear; like that silent darkness which surrounds poor lost souls... I stand amidst the garden catching the wind in my hair, blowing darkness away... a witch enchanted by the moon.
I’m shivering; naked skin in the chilled breeze... and thereby comes the comfort of home as place, and comfort of home as inner residence and peace.
I think I should go inside now.
