Tucked within the Blue Ridge tapestry, I watched, with passion, as skies of sun and indigo kissed day goodbye... Scant droplets of dew fell from the ether, to then be carried upon a chaotic zephyr, while I cozily bundled 'round the fire. Hues of muted grey painted the sky, as the moon made its debut in a pale, yet supple form; granting the slightest mångata atop faint ripples of liquid mirth. As the sky become one with the lake, I continued to play voyeur... wrapped up in their moonlit reverie and enjoying the cold, yet comforting moments of nocturnal tranquility.
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Chaotic, indeed. Zephyr is a word seldom used. A stirring portrait here of feverish desire cooled by night, but I can still feel it smoldering under the moon.
