There is a hill near my home that i often climb at night.The noise of the city is a far-off murmur.In the hush of the dark i share the cheerfulness of crickets and confidence of owls.But it is the drama of the moonrise that i come to see.For that restores in me a quiet and clarity that the city spends too freely.
From this hill i have watched many moons rise.Each one has its own mood.There have been broad,confident harvest moons in autumn;shy,misty moons in spring;lonely,white winter moons rising into the utter silence of an inkblack sky and smoke-smudged orange moons over the dry fields of summer,Each,like fine music,excited my heart and then calmed my soul.