The cool night

The sky has turned cold, the night cool as water. Looking up, the cold moon hangs high.

Baring my arms to the outside, a cool breeze brushes gently like cool water. I wonder, is this the chill of the air? Or the chill of the cold moon? Has the air grown lonely, exhaling a sigh? Or is it the figure on the icy palace, unable to bear the loneliness of the sky, descending to earth, bringing waves of cold? Perhaps it is none of these, simply that the heart of man is lonely, lonely in the sky, lonely in the air. Yet loneliness is not bad, a rare and precious loneliness, where man quiets down, the heart calms, all sound fades away. The busyness of the day, perhaps, is for this moment of tranquility. I do not dislike it, I like it.

The cool night, the tranquil night.