Faint gray light appears in clouds near the dark mountain - she snaps off the lamp. She leans on the couch, her breath mists the glass. She moves away. Suffused cloud glow swells, bursts in a sharp arc of moon. The shrouding mountain rolls toward it, releases all the free, clear, dazzling globe. A twin of the moon lies on the eye of the pond like a bright iris. The oaks fully understand her gladness in the pale light, lifting great, vague shapes, celebrant balloons, yearning to praise the night sky.