The Woods at Night

The Woods at Night A chilling gale rushes through the dark gnarled forms that make up the wood. Ancient they stand, enduring the storm and snow the centuries have thrown at them. Groaning sorrowfully in the cold wind, as though telling tales of their time-worn roots. The ghostly moonlight casts shadows of obscure figures, prancing between trees. An absent gaze is felt piercing through the darkness, an eerie presence, unseen and unknown. The shadows fluidly reside as imposing clouds drift across the watchful moon. A mist has fallen, faint shapes of trees almost lurid against the wispy whitish fog. The soft whir of dead leaves, distant whispers extend from the emptiness of these woods. Languishing sighs longing to be released from the earth and bark that bind them. The bare branches of trees draw intricate silhouettes against blue, black and grey. A twisted canvas - woody tendrils creep elegantly, strangling the company of giants. A wind repeats, the wood is silent, this is the place where beauty meets darkness.