WHAT STYLE SPEAKS TO YOU? Prose: The moonlight catches only the sharpest of edges, outlining the barest of details in a soft white glow - the skeleton of a house, the cold, rusted iron of the fence and the twisted, bony fingers of the trees. The entire place seems like a coiled snake waiting to strike, a spider sitting in a web. The fence, the trees - everything looks ready to snare you and pull you deeper. Nothing feels safe. A warmer light seems to beckon from within the quiet house. Who waits inside a house so dark? Who dares to venture into such a desolate, forboding place? Poetic: Just as the pale, lonely moon pierces the black canvas of the midnight sky, the light of a single candle shines from the window of a cold black house. Just as the gossamer white curtains catch the candlelight, so is the lonely light of the moon caught by the clouds above. The wisps pass by in a churning dance across the trees like the haze of half-forgotten memories, the curtains rustle in the gentle breeze... the glow of the light and the dark of the night remain unflinching. The house is shadow itself - dangerous, alluring, mysterious. Factual: There is a full moon. There is an abandoned house, a fence and a few dead trees. Clouds pass over the moon. A candle lights a window in the house.
Posted on: Tue, 18 Nov 2014 18:04:10 +0000