Sometimes in the deep of night when dreams and nightmares both run rampant, fingers of cold sift through the misty air and moisture coalesces leaving trails of crystal drawn from seeming nothing.

And sometimes the clouds hang low like you could reach up and touch them. In the deep of a winter night they seem almost pregnant with light. Gazing up and whispering to the chill wind, I would breathe just a smidgeon of that luminescence into me.

And sometimes I’m just a girl taking pictures of a night sky.

Then the sky clears and for just a few minutes spit all the chaos and clutter of the day the moon laughs, running rivulets of silver that weave themselves into starlight and play among the minuscule prisms of ice, in quiet deep of night that whispers peace to my tattered soul.

Then sometimes the clouds hang low and thick spite the biting winter breeze, and yet in the heart of the branches.. i wonder if maybe there’s just enough magic there to let us breathe a moment.

Evening walks are food for my soul. Give me the sweet silver rivers of moonlight tumbling with starlight to soothe the aches of days.

And sometimes the moon shines down right through the branches, and in the deep of the night surrounded by quiet, I dare for just a moment to hope silently.

A little Winter’s night view from a late summer nest