The moon seemed to be forlorn too. I sat on the bank, with a few shiny wet pebbles I would take back home as memories of this place. I had collected them from the river bed moments back. The shine would not stay long though, the next day I would bask them under the sun. The moonlight bathed me with it's beautiful ivory. I embraced the calm shower of light along with the much needed solitude it was selflessly providing.
A little distance ahead of me, on the other side of the river was a large lonely camperdown elm tree. I looked at it, and shared the momentary peace. It didn't seem uncanny to me. Not then.
The cold winter winds carried with it the pecking of a distant woodpecker. The crickets added to the nature's rhythm. I laid down on the wet grass. The gossamer fabric of my long satin night gown touched the damp mossy bricks, which baked in the sun all day. Yet, the dew is irresistible.
Never before had I felt the nature with such ecstacy. With every breath I could feel the freshness pump my soul, soothe and caress my insides. The starry sky in front of me laid over my anguish like a damp quilt. Cold, yet warm. Nature's essence.
The beckoning of the night.