Moon Shines Bright Quotes

The moon will guide you through the night with her brightness, but she will always dwell in the darkness, in order to be seen.

The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright -- And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done -- "It's very rude of him," she said, "To come and spoil the fun!" The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead -- There were no birds to fly. In a Wonderland they lie Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summer die.

Blooming under a cold moon, we are like fireworks... Rising, shining, and finally scattering and fading. So until that moment comes when we vanish like fireworks... Lets us sparkle brightly, Always...

The gleaming stars all about the shining moon Hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid In the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth with clear silver light.

It was a full moon and, shining on all the snow, it made everything almost as bright as day -- only the shadows were rather confusing.

Luna is short for mi luna. My moon. Because no matter how dark the nights got, you were always there, shining so brightly that I always found my way through.

The moon shines bright: in such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise, in such a night, Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls, And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, Where Cressid lay that night.

When bad things happen we can usually look up and see the moon, big and bright, shining over us. That always made me feel better. Like there's something up there beaming down on us in the dark.

Like the moon shining bright Up high with all its grace, I can only show you at night And hide half of my face.

All I can see is you. Why can't you understand that? No one shines as bright as you in the sky I'm looking at. To me there is no sun, no moon, and no stars in the sky, just endless miles of storm clouds and pretty, pretty gray.

And I know that I am. I am his moon, and his brightly shining star. I am his life, his heart. I am all that and the answer to every unspoken question, the comfort for every hurt, the companion who will walk beside him from now until the end of our lives, reveling in the bliss of each simple chore done in his name, overflowing with beauty because I am blessed to spend my life with my love.

I want to breathe, I hate this night I want to wake up, I hate this dream I’m trapped inside of myself and I’m dead Don’t wanna be lonely Just wanna be yours Why is it so dark where you’re not here It’s dangerous how wrecked I am Save me because I can’t get a grip on myself Listen to my heartbeat It calls you whenever it wants to Because within this pitch black darkness You are shining so brightly Give me your hand save me save me I need your love before I fall, fall Give me your hand save me save me I need your love before I fall, fall Give me your hand save me save me Give me your hand save me save me Save me, save me Today the moon shines brighter on the blank spot in my memories It swallowed me, this lunatic, please save me tonight (Please save me tonight, please save me tonight) Within this childish madness you will save me tonight I knew that your salvation Is a part of my life and the only helping hand that will embrase my pain The best of me, you’re the only thing I have Please raise your voice so that I can laugh again Play on Listen to my heartbeat, it calls you whenever it wants to Because within this pitch black darkness, you are shining so brightly Give me your hand save me save me I need your love before I fall, fall Give me your hand save me save me I need your love before I fall, fall Give me your hand save me save me Give me your hand save me save me Thank you for letting me be me For helping me fly For giving me wings For straightening me out For waking me from being suffocated For waking me from a dream which was all I was living in When I think of you the sun comes out So I gave my sadness to the dog (Thank you. For being ‘us’) Give me your hand save me save me I need your love before I fall, fall Give me your hand save me save me I need your love before I fall, fall

Seated alone by shadowy bamboos, I strum my lyre and laugh aloud; None know that I am here, deep in the woods; Only the bright moon comes to shine on me.

And the moon never beams Without bringing me dreams And the sun never shines But I see the bright eyes I lie down by the side Of my darling My life, my life..

Do not think of yourself as a crescent moon, waiting for someone else to fill in the missing part of you. When you stand alone like a full moon, already complete in yourself, you will meet another person who is whole and complete just like you, and between you two, a healthy relationship can grow. Do not try and fit yourselves to each other to make one whole moon. Instead, be more like two full moons. You’ll respect each other’s individuality and interests while creating a relationship in which each of you shines brightly on the other

In the beginning.. when ray and day hadn't yet come into existence at all, there was a kind of radiance that illuminates universe. That radiance is the light of knowledge and goodness. That radiance will persistently and consistently shines brightly even after all the stars and moons in this vast universe died out.

The future was cloudy, but tonight the moon was bright.

A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow bald, a fair face will wither, a full eye will wax hollow. But a good heart...is the sun and moon...for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps its course truly.

I Dwelt alone In a world of moan, And my soul was a stagnant tide, Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride- Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride Ah, less-less bright The stars of night Than the eyes of the radiant girl! And never a flake That the vapor can make With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl- Can vie compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl Now Doubt-now Pain Come never again, For her soul gives me sigh for sigh, And all day long Shine, bright and strong, Astarte within the sky, While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye- While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

No one shines as bright as you in the sky I’m looking at. To me there is no sun, no moon, and no stars in the sky, just endless miles of storm clouds and pretty, pretty gray.

What shall I give? and which are my miracles? 2. Realism is mine--my miracles--Take freely, Take without end--I offer them to you wherever your feet can carry you or your eyes reach. 3. Why! who makes much of a miracle? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at the table at dinner with my mother, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown--or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring; Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--mechanics, boatmen, farmers, Or among the savans--or to the _soiree_--or to the opera. Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery, Or behold children at their sports, Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my own eyes and figure in the glass; These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring--yet each distinct and in its place. 4. To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every cubic foot of the interior swarms with the same; Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them, All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles. To me the sea is a continual miracle; The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships, with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?

THOUGHTS ON A STILL NIGHT Before my bed, the moon is shining bright, I think that it is frost upon the ground. I raise my head and look at the bright moon, I lower my head and think of home.

It was the most beautiful night of their lives – their wedding night. The moon was full, splashing its bright silver light all over and making the night shine, with a magical canopy of stars sprayed against a velvety sky.

When the sun and the moon will be identically seen together, When the wind and the water will meet in alliance, When the stars will shine as bright as your emotions, You will find her holding your hands and taking you towards the eternal love of the miraculous world.

And so their spirits soared as they took positions own the passageways of battle all night long, and the watchfires blazed among them. Hundreds strong, as stars in the night sky glittering round the moon's brilliance blaze in all their glory when the air falls to a sudden, windless calm... all the lookout peaks stand out and the jutting cliffs and the steep ravines and down from the high heavens bursts the boundless bright air and all the stars shine clear and the shepherd's heart exults - so many fires burned between the ships and the Xanthus' whirling rapids set by the men of Troy, bright against their walls. A thousand fires were burning there on the plain and beside each fire sat fifty fighting men poised in the leaping blaze, and champing oats and glistening barley, stationed by their chariots, stallions waited for Dawn to mount her glowing throne.

The moon had never been as bright as the shine it was granting the sky with, committing every moment until sunrise.

Before I met you, all I could see was a black hole. Now the nights are full of bright shining stars whispering your name into a constellation.

Assembling a coherent portrait of Muhammad’s life required piecing together scattered fragments and structuring them in an organized manner. What emerged from the reconstruction was the realization that Muhammad had endured terrible setbacks and traumatic suffering, only to turn his brokenness into an asset, unlocking latent abilities to improve the world around him. Moved by his own experience in overcoming challenges, Muhammad dedicated himself to inspiring others to see their imperfections as the very source of their potential. Despite all the pain, Muhammad refused to see himself as a victim. His nickname al- Badr Laylat At-Tamam (the fullest moon) referred to illumination of the darkness by his bright shining face.

You guys know I love you, right?" I glance between them, knowing they'll freak, but it has to be said. They look at each other, exchanging a look of alarm, both of them wondering what could've possibly happened to the girl they once pegged as the Ice Queen. "Um, okay..." Haven says, shaking her head. But I just smile and grasp them both to me, squeezing them tightly as I whisper to Miles, "Whatever you do don't stop acting or singing, it's going to bring you great happiness." And before he can respond, I've moved on to Haven, knowing I have to get this over with and quick, so I can get Damen to Ava's, but determined to find a way to urge her to love herself more, and that Josh is worth hanging on to for however long it lasts. "You have so much value," I tell her. "So much to give--I just wish you could see how bright your star truly does shine." "Um, gag!" she says, laughing as she untangles herself from my grip. "Are you okay?

Darkness allows the moon to shine bright. Know that you can shine in darker days too.

Live in the shadow of the moon until you're bright enough to give birth to your own suns.

Once the arrow has left the bowstring, it has no power to come back. The moon's brightness shines, revealing the night traveller.

The moon shines bright, The vampire alights Swish, swish goes his cloak . . . Maiden, are you not afeared?

I smoothed Colton’s blanket across his chest and tucked him in snug the way he liked—and for the first time since he started talking about heaven, I intentionally tried to trip him up. “I remember you saying you stayed with Pop,” I said. “So when it got dark and you went home with Pop, what did you two do?” Suddenly serious, Colton scowled at me. “It doesn’t get dark in heaven, Dad! Who told you that?” I held my ground. “What do you mean it doesn’t get dark?” “God and Jesus light up heaven. It never gets dark. It’s always bright.” The joke was on me. Not only had Colton not fallen for the “when it gets dark in heaven” trick, but he could tell me why it didn’t get dark: “The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp.

The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin's Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes' mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard. Unwearied then were Durin's folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin's halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep. -The Song of Durin

Last Will Prologue: We, Sacco and Vanzetti, sound of body and mind, Devise and bequeath to all we leave behind, The worldly wealth we inherited at our birth, Each one to share alike as we leave this earth. To Wit: To babies we will their mothers’ love, To youngsters we will the sun above. To spooners who wont to tryst the night, We give the moon and stars that shine so bright. To thrill them in their hours of joy, When boy hugs maid and maid hugs boy. To nature’s creatures we allot the spring and summer, To the doe, the bear, the gold-finch and the hummer. To the fishes we ascribe the deep blue sea, The honey we apportion to the bustling bee. To the pessimist—good cheer—his mind to sooth, To the chronic liar we donate the solemn truth. And Lastly: To those who judge solely seeking renown, With blaring trumpets of the fakir and clown; To the prosecutor, persecutor, and other human hounds, Who’d barter another’s honor, recognizing no bounds, To the Governor, the Jury, who another’s life they’d sell— We endow them with the fiery depths of HELL! (Industrial Worker, Aug. 20, 1927)

She describes her loneliness as a weakness, but I only see it as a strength. While people like me shrivel away in the shadows, people like her create their own light. She’s like the moon who shines bright despite the never-ending darkness. And she makes me want to wish that daylight never comes again.

To Selene (Moon) Hear, Goddess queen, diffusing silver light, bull-horn'd and wand'ring thro' the gloom of Night. With stars surrounded, and with circuit wide Night's torch extending, thro' the heav'ns you ride: Female and Male with borrow'd rays you shine, and now full-orb'd, now tending to decline. Mother of ages, fruit-producing Moon [Mene], whose amber orb makes Night's reflected noon: Lover of horses, splendid, queen of Night, all-seeing pow'r bedeck'd with starry light. Lover of vigilance, the foe of strife, in peace rejoicing, and a prudent life: Fair lamp of Night, its ornament and friend, who giv'st to Nature's works their destin'd end. Queen of the stars, all-wife Diana hail! Deck'd with a graceful robe and shining veil; Come, blessed Goddess, prudent, starry, bright, come moony-lamp with chaste and splendid light, Shine on these sacred rites with prosp'rous rays, and pleas'd accept thy suppliant's mystic praise.

Kill us in the clear light on the Moon, where the sky is black and soft, where the stars shine brightly, where the cleanliness and purity of vacuum make all things sharp. - Not in this low-clinging, fuzzy blue.

All I can see is you. Why can’t you understand that? No one shines as bright as you in the sky I’m looking at. To me there is no sun, no moon, and no stars in the sky, just endless miles of storm clouds and pretty, pretty gray.

Darkness, also represent truth—I notice there are a lot of people in the world today whose true colors come out in their darkest hours. They are good at hiding in the light because they are afraid the darkness will unveil their fear and who they truly are as a person. If darkness didn’t exist, the stars and the moon wouldn’t be able to shine. The stars give me hope; as they shine so brightly, I know my blessings will shine even brighter. Embrace the darkness; it will give you well-needed rest, and as you walk out into the light the sun will complement your renewed strength.

The moon can only shine as bright as the stars around it

why shine as bright as the sun, when you can shine as bright as the moon and let the stars shine beside you

she wishes that Hannah could look in the mirror every day and see that she shines as bright as the moon and has twice the gravitational pull.

Even a man who is pure at heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the moon is shining bright.

The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower, In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have took delight. Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.

Harry flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he yelled. And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. He screwed up his eyes, trying to see what it was. It looked like a horse. It was galloping silently away from him, across the black surface of the lake. He saw it lower its head and charge at the swarming dementors. . . . Now it was galloping around and around the black shapes on the ground, and the dementors were falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness. . . . They were gone. The Patronus turned. It was cantering back toward Harry across the still surface of the water. It wasn't a horse. It wasn't a unicorn, either. It was a stag. It was shining brightly as the moon above. . . it was coming back to him. . . . It stopped on the bank. Its hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at Harry with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its antlered head. And Harry realized. . . "Prongs," he whispered. But as his trembling fingertips stretched toward the creature, it vanished.

I kept staring at the moon. I'm not sure if its light was good or evil. I thought it might not be either. The moon just shines with the light of chaos. Mysteriously. Brightly. That must not be either good or evil. Just as the rules of this world are not all good.

The Moon would shine as brightly as the midmorning sun, and by the end of the two minutes, the lunar regolith would be heated to a glow.

A good heart is the sun and the moon; or rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly.

Above her, he can see the trees and the bright, full moon, a shining coin of silver spinning through the sky. The first blush of sunrise on the horizon is still a ways off...

In Indian mythology, when the moon covers the sun, darkness has the power to cover your life.” Slowly, he makes his way out of the room and toward the exit. “But it is not always the sun that must shine to have light. In darkness, we must seek out the stars. Their brightness has its own power.

Let me be the moon in your darkest days, Let me shine my silver light and show you how the flowers bloom in the darkest hour, In the darkest troubled times, you will bloom; At bright day light onlookers will praise your beauty, My beloved flower, my love remember me then … Remember my love which made you bloom.

The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright-- And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done-- "It's very rude of him," she said, "To come and spoil the fun!" The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying over head-- There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: "If this were only cleared away," They said, "it WOULD be grand!" "If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose," the Walrus said, "That they could get it clear?" "I doubt it," said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear. "O Oysters, come and walk with us!" The Walrus did beseech. "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each." The eldest Oyster looked at him. But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head-- Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed. But four young oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat-- And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't any feet. Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more-- All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore. The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row. "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- Of cabbages--and kings-- And why the sea is boiling hot-- And whether pigs have wings." "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, "Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!" "No hurry!" said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that. "A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, "Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed-- Now if you're ready Oysters dear, We can begin to feed." "But not on us!" the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue, "After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!" "The night is fine," the Walrus said "Do you admire the view? "It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!" The Carpenter said nothing but "Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf-- I've had to ask you twice!" "It seems a shame," the Walrus said, "To play them such a trick, After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!" The Carpenter said nothing but "The butter's spread too thick!" "I weep for you," the Walrus said. "I deeply sympathize." With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size. Holding his pocket handkerchief Before his streaming eyes. "O Oysters," said the Carpenter. "You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?" But answer came there none-- And that was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one.

So doth the greater glory dim the less: A substitute shines brightly as a king Unto the king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters. Music! hark! NERISSA It is your music, madam, of the house. PORTIA Nothing is good, I see, without respect: Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. NERISSA Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. PORTIA The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended, and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many things by season season'd are To their right praise and true perfection! Peace, ho! the moon sleeps with Endymion And would not be awaked. - Acte V, Scene 1

Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake. All the vines are ripening And the trees come into bud, For my love's footsteps passing by Are summoning the spring. Rian's stars in the night Shine more brightly over her, The god's moon and the goddess's Guard her with their light. Even the birds above the lake Are singing of my love, And even the flowers along the shore Are growing for her sake

She describes her loneliness as a weakness, but I only see it as a strength. While people like me shrivel away in the shadows, people like her create their own light. She’s like the moon who shines bright despite the never-ending darkness.

...Counting stars by candlelight all are dim but one is bright the spiral light of Venus rising first and shining best from the northwest corner of a brand-new crescent moon crickets and cicadas sing a rare and different tune Terrapin Station...

The crags of the mountain were ruthless in the moon; cold, deadly and shining. Distance had no meaning. The tangled glittering of the forest roof rolled away, but its furthermost reaches were brought suddenly nearer in a bound by the terrifying effect of proximity in the mountain that they swarmed. The mountain was neither far away nor was it close at hand. It arose starkly, enormously, across the lens of the eye. The hollow itself was a cup of light. Every blade of the grass was of consequence, and the few scattered stones held an authority that made their solid, separate marks upon the brain - each one with its own unduplicated shape: each rising brightly from the ink of its own spilling.

I dreamed I stood upon a little hill, And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed Like a waste garden, flowering at its will With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed Black and unruffled; there were white lilies A few, and crocuses, and violets Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries Scarce seen for the rank grass, and through green nets Blue eyes of shy peryenche winked in the sun. And there were curious flowers, before unknown, Flowers that were stained with moonlight, or with shades Of Nature's willful moods; and here a one That had drunk in the transitory tone Of one brief moment in a sunset; blades Of grass that in an hundred springs had been Slowly but exquisitely nurtured by the stars, And watered with the scented dew long cupped In lilies, that for rays of sun had seen Only God's glory, for never a sunrise mars The luminous air of Heaven. Beyond, abrupt, A grey stone wall. o'ergrown with velvet moss Uprose; and gazing I stood long, all mazed To see a place so strange, so sweet, so fair. And as I stood and marvelled, lo! across The garden came a youth; one hand he raised To shield him from the sun, his wind-tossed hair Was twined with flowers, and in his hand he bore A purple bunch of bursting grapes, his eyes Were clear as crystal, naked all was he, White as the snow on pathless mountains frore, Red were his lips as red wine-spilith that dyes A marble floor, his brow chalcedony. And he came near me, with his lips uncurled And kind, and caught my hand and kissed my mouth, And gave me grapes to eat, and said, 'Sweet friend, Come I will show thee shadows of the world And images of life. See from the South Comes the pale pageant that hath never an end.' And lo! within the garden of my dream I saw two walking on a shining plain Of golden light. The one did joyous seem And fair and blooming, and a sweet refrain Came from his lips; he sang of pretty maids And joyous love of comely girl and boy, His eyes were bright, and 'mid the dancing blades Of golden grass his feet did trip for joy; And in his hand he held an ivory lute With strings of gold that were as maidens' hair, And sang with voice as tuneful as a flute, And round his neck three chains of roses were. But he that was his comrade walked aside; He was full sad and sweet, and his large eyes Were strange with wondrous brightness, staring wide With gazing; and he sighed with many sighs That moved me, and his cheeks were wan and white Like pallid lilies, and his lips were red Like poppies, and his hands he clenched tight, And yet again unclenched, and his head Was wreathed with moon-flowers pale as lips of death. A purple robe he wore, o'erwrought in gold With the device of a great snake, whose breath Was fiery flame: which when I did behold I fell a-weeping, and I cried, 'Sweet youth, Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove These pleasent realms? I pray thee speak me sooth What is thy name?' He said, 'My name is Love.' Then straight the first did turn himself to me And cried, 'He lieth, for his name is Shame, But I am Love, and I was wont to be Alone in this fair garden, till he came Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame.' Then sighing, said the other, 'Have thy will, I am the love that dare not speak its name.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis, Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.

When daylight is here i dream of the night, The stars of a country sky that shine so bright. A night sky without clouds, for the moon to hide under, Revealing every twinkle and every beam, of the Milky Way's wonder. I grow sad in the morning, And i pay the day no mind. Every time i see the light coming, I know the sunset's not far behind.

Bright is the one who is comfortable in the darkness.

One of the key defense mechanisms of a phoenix is to shine so brightly, their predators are temporarily stunned and unable to pursue.

I gaze up at the moon, thinking of how similar we are. One side always hidden while the other shines so bright.

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose, Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver, Give unto the flying hart Space to breath, how short soever: Thou that mak'st a day of night- Goddess excellently bright.

The moon reflects in the river The water sparkles very bright Reflecting moon like it's silver It shines so magically tonight Excerpt from a book "LOVE AND NATURE" by Ravshan Kuzibaev

The moon is shining brighter tonight, touching the entire village with its soft silver light; the houses are half awake and the sky is half asleep, with its sparkling yellowish stars scattered and spread across it, like a large bright night cloak. Little and fragile plants’ silhouettes are beautifully staining the skyline and dancing to the silent sound of the winter breeze.

The trees were set close and from the perimeter of that parcel of land I could not see the school hidden within them. Look up here, I thought I heard someone say to me. When I did look up, I saw that the branches overhead were without leaves, and through their intertwining mesh the sky was fully visible. How bright and dark it was at the same time. Bright with a high, full moon shining among the spreading clouds, and dark with the shadows mingling within those clouds—a slowly flowing mass of mottled shapes, a kind of unclean outpouring from the black sewers of space.

Sometimes, the rain pours right before the bright sun comes out. If not the sun, then the stars. If not stars, then the moon. If even not the moon is shining, lets other be that light you need

God,” said Benedict Fludd, “your God, that is, strides in and out of my life with no warning. One day he seems impossible—laughable, laughable—and the next, he is imperious.” He stopped. He said “It is like the phases of the moon, maybe. Or the seasons of the sphere we live on, rolling in and out of the light, skeleton trees one day, and then snow, and afterwards the bright green veil and after that the full heat and shining. Only it is neither regular nor predictable. And there are—others—who stride in, when he takes himself off. Who seem persuasive. Like Hindoo demons who are gods in their own terms.

. . . the moon doth shine as bright as day. Leave your supper and leave your meat, and join your playfellows in the street. Come with a whoop and come with a call. Come with a whole heart or not at all . . 

Am I still writing? Unthinkable not to. In the very darkest night the words were like shiny pebbles. They caught the light of the moon and stars and reflected it back. One word among them that shone especially brightly. Simplicity. I would approach it, stepping softly, regard it from all sides, finally pick it up, enchanted by it, recognize that its enchantment lay in its shine, its pure meaning. Simplicity. To simply be there. Simply keep going. The longer I kept going, the easier it was to see how beautiful, simply beautiful, it is to be here. I would like to write about how this word shines. I'd like to write about the simplest things.

Shine like the sun It will make the whole world bright Burn like the sun It will make the whole world warm. Love like the moon It will make the whole world calm. Bloom like a flower It will make the whole world peaceful.

The winter nights were very long. Sometimes the sun showed for an hour, sometimes for only a few minutes, sometimes it did not show at all for a week. The men hunted by the bright shining of the moon or by the northern lights.

I'll tell you what I miss. I miss that throbbing heart telling me to take a leap when the sky looks too dark. I miss the walk that I took in the narrow cobblestoned pathways that fumed of history and undying stories of love and loss. I miss the coffee that scented like mist in a frozen dream in a land of strange beauty. I miss the afternoon tea that followed my pen to hours of happy melancholy. I miss the muse I saw dance in a foreign land of near heart. I miss the stranger smiling at me from a corner and teaching me his language to smile at my twinkled happiness. I miss that symphony of mad evenings ending in a sky full of stars to fill my soul with an unknown ecstasy. I miss that hand of an old woman trying to tell me her story. I miss that child running up to me in a crowd of unknown faces to hand me her candy. I miss that night where I lay back on a distant balcony gazing at the solitary moon for hours knowing that it is shining at my homeland just as bright. I miss that stranger listening to my heart and telling me how beautiful it is. I miss a wandering soul, who went on filling her breath with life of eternal love in the wings of Life. And I'll tell you now when I look back I see how wonderful Time has treated me and how grateful I am to have lived in moments that roar of a beautiful Life lived with a heart throbbing to take a leap once again in that ocean of Life's beguiling journey.

ON the beach at night alone, As the old mother sways her to and fro, singing her husky song, As I watch the bright stars shining—I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future. A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all, All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, comets, asteroids, All the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the same, All distances of place, however wide, All distances of time—all inanimate forms, All Souls—all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds, All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes—the fishes, the brutes, All men and women—me also; All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages; All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe; All lives and deaths—all of the past, present, future; This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd, and shall forever span them, and compactly hold them, and enclose them.

There was a gaping hole in his chest without her. The three weeks he’d spent with her had been the best of his life. She was like this bright, shining star that had been ripped away from him. He was territorial as hell and he wasn’t letting her go.

Then instead of hurrying he was standing still, he was very tired and sweating under the heavy coat, and looking up he saw a white shining fan, spreading over the sky, like light from a door slowly opening, and he knew the moon was coming out of the clouds. Then he looked over the sea and there were islands it seemed, and then a great migration of birds thickened the air and he was in a rushing of wings, the wings beat so dark and fast round him he felt dizzy like falling and the moon disappeared. And then it was clear again, brilliant moonlight, and there, ahead, bright as day, were all the small islands, Cape Promise, and the bay of Mairangi, wide, still, unbelievably peaceful under the full moon. And then he did know where he was going.

The original reality of Amitabha is our own Dharma body, It shines out brightly everywhere, in the South, North, East, and West, It is like the autumn moon that lies in the high, vast sky, In the silence of the night its brilliance shines far over the ocean.

(I know, it's a poem but oh well). Why! who makes much of a miracle? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with my mother, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring; Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best-- mechanics, boatmen, farmers, Or among the savans--or to the soiree--or to the opera, Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery, Or behold children at their sports, Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my own eyes and figure in the glass; These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place. To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same; Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them, All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles. To me the sea is a continual miracle; The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships, with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?

And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee

Today, she is standing at the top of a mountain and appreciating the majestic panoramic view of mesmerizing Himalaya. As a kid, she used to look up in the sky and wish for wings to fly up to the mountains. And now after a long wait of many years, she is standing here and living her dream. It’s the moment when she can’t believe her eyes because what she always dreamed of has come alive. She looks with amazement as if she’s witnessing a miracle. It is the moment of her life. She just wants to feel it. There are beautiful clouds below her and there are snow clad mountain peaks emerging from those clouds. The white peaks shining in blue sky among white clouds look like glittering diamonds to her. The view of the large lush green meadow surrounded by mountains under blue sky with a rainbow circling the horizon has put her in a state of tranquility. As the sun starts drowning in the horizon, the sky begins to boast his mystical colours. The beautiful mix of pink, orange and red looks like creating a twilight saga. She opens her both arm and takes a deep breath to entwine with the nature. The glimmering rays of the moon are paying tribute to her by kissing her warm cheeks and her eyes twinkle in bright moon light. She raises her face towards the moon and senses the flood of memories which she wants to unleash. The cool breeze lifts her ruffled hair and blows her skirt up. She closes her eyes and breathes deep as if she wants to let her know that she is finally here and then she opens her eyes and finds herself on the same wheelchair inside a room with an empty wall in front of her eye. Tears rolls down from her eye but these are the tears of Joy because she is living her dreams today. The feelings comes to her mind while waiting for her daughter who is coming back home today after her first expedition of a high range mountain ~ AB

Moon, O Moon, how wondrous are you among God’s many works! You shine with majesty and brilliance, a thousand times more brightly than the brightest star! You were created on the same day as the sun. You give light just as the sun gives light. But your light, O Moon, is even more important than the light of the sun. The sun is nearly superfluous, for it lights the daytime when we hardly need it. By day, the world is bright and we can already see clearly all that surrounds us. The wonder of your light, O Moon, comes by night when it is dark so that you are a lamp for our feet and a beacon for our eyes. Moon, O Moon, how wondrous you are!

To fill the days up of his dateless year Flame from Queen Helen to Queen Guenevere? For first of all the sphery signs whereby Love severs light from darkness, and most high, In the white front of January there glows The rose-red sign of Helen like a rose: And gold-eyed as the shore-flower shelterless Whereon the sharp-breathed sea blows bitterness, A storm-star that the seafarers of love Strain their wind-wearied eyes for glimpses of, Shoots keen through February's grey frost and damp The lamplike star of Hero for a lamp; The star that Marlowe sang into our skies With mouth of gold, and morning in his eyes; And in clear March across the rough blue sea The signal sapphire of Alcyone Makes bright the blown bross of the wind-foot year; And shining like a sunbeam-smitten tear Full ere it fall, the fair next sign in sight Burns opal-wise with April-coloured light When air is quick with song and rain and flame, My birth-month star that in love's heaven hath name Iseult, a light of blossom and beam and shower, My singing sign that makes the song-tree flower; Next like a pale and burning pearl beyond The rose-white sphere of flower-named Rosamond Signs the sweet head of Maytime; and for June Flares like an angered and storm-reddening moon Her signal sphere, whose Carthaginian pyre Shadowed her traitor's flying sail with fire; Next, glittering as the wine-bright jacinth-stone, A star south-risen that first to music shone, The keen girl-star of golden Juliet bears Light northward to the month whose forehead wears Her name for flower upon it, and his trees Mix their deep English song with Veronese; And like an awful sovereign chrysolite Burning, the supreme fire that blinds the night, The hot gold head of Venus kissed by Mars, A sun-flower among small sphered flowers of stars, The light of Cleopatra fills and burns The hollow of heaven whence ardent August yearns; And fixed and shining as the sister-shed Sweet tears for Phaethon disorbed and dead, The pale bright autumn's amber-coloured sphere, That through September sees the saddening year As love sees change through sorrow, hath to name Francesca's; and the star that watches flame The embers of the harvest overgone Is Thisbe's, slain of love in Babylon, Set in the golden girdle of sweet signs A blood-bright ruby; last save one light shines An eastern wonder of sphery chrysopras, The star that made men mad, Angelica's; And latest named and lordliest, with a sound Of swords and harps in heaven that ring it round, Last love-light and last love-song of the year's, Gleams like a glorious emerald Guenevere's.

I go near to the shore And the rustling boat smiles I stare up at the moon And the stars shine bright I walk during the sunsets Observing the shades of nature Oh how I wonder Seeing the sunrise painting the sky But I fear that We are losing the art of god For we do not know How to make the world A great place to live in

The Prophet (ﷺ) stated that: «Every heart has a cloud covering it, with the similitude of a cloud covering a shining moon. It suddenly becomes dark when the cloud covers, but its brightness returns once the cloud has passed.» (recorded by at-Tabarâni and graded reliable by al-Albâni) In this hadith, the Prophet (ﷺ) presents an analogy. Our hearts are likened to the moon; just as the moon is sometimes covered by clouds that conceal its light, the heart is sometimes covered by clouds of sin that cover its light. At other times, the clouds go away, and the light shines again in the heart. The light increases when we strive to engage in acts that will increase our eemân.

The full moon tugs at the waves making them crash loudly against the rocks, all the while shining brightly overhead and making the black water that ripples rhythmically below, take on a supernatural quality. The moon, the ocean… they smile knowingly, as if they’re inwardly laughing at me… as if they both know my secrets. I wish they would let me in on the joke.

I said, “But I am, Samuel. I am cursed. You’ve seen my mother. You know that is my destiny.” “I know,” he said. “But Magda? Look up at the stars one last time before this night becomes day.” I turned and felt the world below me drift away until the only thing I saw was a vast ocean of night and stars and moon. Samuel’s lips touched my neck, softly. He whispered, “The stars shine so brightly before they die, Magda. And even after they blink away, we can still see them. Stars don’t fade like people do. In ways, they are forever pieces of an infinite sky. We are the same, Magda. You are my star, and I am yours. There might be a piece of our forever that we cannot see, but we must believe it’s there, waiting at the end.

Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken. I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

To someone who has lived for many years, the door is obvious. The house is obvious, the garden is obvious, the sky and the sea are obvious, even the moon, suspended in the night sky and shining brightly above the rooftops, is obvious. The world expresses its being, but we are not listening, and since we are no longer immersed in it, experiencing it as a part of ourselves, it is as if it escapes us.

Now directly above her, transiting the meridian, was the new crescent moon. No longer a chalky white, it was as silver as a piece of polished jewelry, somehow shining and sparkling despite the fact that it should have been nearly invisible that close to the sun, traveling through his bright day. "Oh, how pret---" Rapunzel started to say, but then she was distracted because her hair began to glow. Just like when she killed the chickens-- but more. Brilliantly, with the white light of the diamonds of her (Flynn's) crown, with the whiteness she imagined the foam of a midnight sea would look like. She picked up a hank of hair and let it hang from her hands; it was like holding molten silver chains or all the distant rivers seen from her tower, gathered up together by some unimaginable fairy-tale giant.

So take a moment to consider with me the possibility of holding relationship to others in this way: Picture a full, bright moon shining down on a pool of still water. On one side is the water and on the other is the moon. As they hold and reflect each other, notice that each makes the other even more resplendent. As the water manifests the brightness of the moon, the moon manifests the clarity of the water.

Hear my prayer, O Lady: upon a firm rock establish my mind. Be thou to me a tower of strength: protect me from the face of the cruel destroyer. Be thou to him terrible as an army in battle array: and may he fall living into the depths of hell. For thou art shining and terrible: a cloud full of dew, and the rising dawn. Thou art beautiful and bright as the full moon: thy sacred aspect is as when the sun shines in its strength.

Now her hair is like the nights of disunion and separation and her face like the days of union and delectation; She hath a nose like the edge of the burnished blade and cheeks like purple wine or anemones blood-red: her lips as coral and carnelian shine and the water of her mouth is sweeter than old wine; its taste would quench Hell's fiery pain. Her tongue is moved by wit of high degree and ready repartee: her breast is a seduction to all that see it (glory be to Him who fashioned it and finished it!); and joined thereto are two upper arms smooth and rounded; She hath breasts like two globes of ivory, from whose brightness the moons borrow light, and a stomach with little waves as it were a figured cloth of the finest Egyptian linen made by the Copts, with creases like folded scrolls, ending in a waist slender past all power of imagination; based upon back parts like a hillock of blown sand, that force her to sit when she would fief stand, and awaken her, when she fain would sleep, And those back parts are upborne by thighs smooth and round and by a calf like a column of pearl, and all this reposeth upon two feet, narrow, slender and pointed like spear-blades, the handiwork of the Protector and Requiter, I wonder how, of their littleness, they can sustain what is above them.

I wish I could be here to see all the things you are going to do. I stop and think about it, trying to wrangle a vision of what her future might hold, but I cannot see it; too many possibilities exist. So instead I say, Soar, Mo, reach for the stars or the moon or another universe altogether, and shine so bright you blind everyone around you, and though I am gone, carry me with you, but only as lightness and never as weight . . .

The Patronus turned. It was cantering back toward Harry across the still surface of the water. It wasn’t a horse. It wasn’t a unicorn, either. It was a stag. It was shining brightly as the moon above . . . it was coming back to him. . . . It stopped on the bank. Its hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at Harry with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its antlered head. And Harry realized . . . “Prongs,” he whispered.

It's difficult to see the bright side when the central void is pitch black and all your little stars seem to be blinking out one by one. But sooner or later that black hole will collapse on itself and you'll be hit with the warmth of the sun. At night the moon will shine and little by little the stars will begin to glow and though your life has fallen apart, you will slowly build yourself (perhaps a life even better than before) below a new horizon.

The moon had risen higher and the moonlight was bright in the little open place. All around it the shadows were dark among the trees. “After a long while, a doe and her yearling fawn came stepping daintily out of the shadows. They were not afraid at all. They walked over to the place where I had sprinkled the salt, and they both licked up a little of it. “Then they raised their heads and looked at each other. The fawn stepped over and stood beside the doe. They stood there together, looking at the woods and the moonlight. Their large eyes were shining and soft. “I just sat there looking at them, until they walked away among the shadows. Then I climbed down out of the tree and came home.” Laura whispered in his ear, “I’m glad you didn’t shoot them!” Mary said, “We can eat bread and butter.” Pa lifted Mary up out of her chair and hugged them both together. “You’re my good girls,” he said. “And now it’s bedtime. Run along, while I get my fiddle.” When Laura and Mary had said their prayers and were tucked snugly under the trundle bed’s covers, Pa was sitting in the firelight with the fiddle. Ma had blown out the lamp because she did not need its light. On the other side of the hearth she was swaying gently in her rocking chair and her knitting needles flashed in and out above the sock she was knitting. The long winter evenings of fire-light and music had come again.

When the full moon was out the other night, it created one of the most spectacular scenes that I have seen in the Alps. The high glaciers of the Mont Blanc range were glowing an eerie bright blue-white, and they looked like huge ghost ships in the dark ocean of sky, sailing amongst black mountain valleys. There were no clouds, and the moon was a huge and perfect disc tracking across the sky, shining on different parts of the glaciers through the night. Looking up, I saw the black silhouette of the mid-altitude mountains below the ethereal shining high-mountain terrain, which created a weird vision: the ghostly glaciers floating, and appearing separate, contrasting sharply with the dark valleys beneath. The Aiguille Verte especially, being so steep and isolated, seemed almost like a holographic mast with sails, plowing into the rolling waves, chasing after the Mont Blanc summit with its billowing spinnaker...

Small said, “But what about when we are dead and gone, will you love me then, does love go on?” Large held Small snug as they looked out at the night, at the moon in the dark and the stars shining bright. “Small, look at the stars, how they shine and glow, some of the stars died a long time ago. Still they shine in the evening skies, for you see, Small, love like starlight never dies.…” —Debi Gliori                       No Matter What              (Bloomsbury Publishing)

You kept asking me why I called you Luna. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid it would send you running for the hills. Even before we kissed, before we were anything other than a publicist and her client, you were a light in my life. A persistent, sometimes scary one, but a light all the same.” Xavier’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Luna is short for mi luna. My moon. Because no matter how dark the nights got, you were always there, shining so brightly that I always found my way through.

Han was in space. He could hardly believe it. He’d always thought it would be dark and black. Instead it was as bright as day, and he could see everything from the hull of the shuttle to Qi’ra’s face to Corellia’s nearest moon in bright relief and perfect detail. The planet grew distant, becoming a tiny shining dot. Unlike the planet, the sun Corell didn’t seem any smaller from here, just whiter. Maybe brighter. Space, it turned out, was huge. A man could have a lot of room all to himself out here.

Light breaks where no sun shines - 1914-1953 Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart Push in their tides; And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads, The things of light File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones. A candle in the thighs Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age; Where no seed stirs, The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars, Bright as a fig; Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs. Dawn breaks behind the eyes; From poles of skull and toe the windy blood Slides like a sea; Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky Spout to the rod Divining in a smile the oil of tears. Night in the sockets rounds, Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes; Day lights the bone; Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin The winter's robes; The film of spring is hanging from the lids. Light breaks on secret lots, On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain; When logics dies, The secret of the soil grows through the eye, And blood jumps in the sun; Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

All scary stories have two sides...Like the bright and dark of the moon. If you're brave enough to listen and wise enough to stay to the end, the stories can shine a light on the good in the world. They can guide your muzzles. They can help you survive...But...if you don't listen closely...if you turn tail from the horror and don't stay till the end, then the darkness of the story can swallow all hope. It can frighten you so deeply you'll never want to leave your den again. You'll waste away the days with your mother, forever smelling like her milk.

Homer's Hymn to the Sun Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818. Offspring of Jove, Calliope, once more To the bright Sun, thy hymn of music pour; Whom to the child of star-clad Heaven and Earth Euryphaessa, large-eyed nymph, brought forth; Euryphaessa, the famed sister fair Of great Hyperion, who to him did bear A race of loveliest children; the young Morn, Whose arms are like twin roses newly born, The fair-haired Moon, and the immortal Sun, Who borne by heavenly steeds his race doth run Unconquerably, illuming the abodes Of mortal Men and the eternal Gods. Fiercely look forth his awe-inspiring eyes, Beneath his golden helmet, whence arise And are shot forth afar, clear beams of light; His countenance, with radiant glory bright, Beneath his graceful locks far shines around, And the light vest with which his limbs are bound, Of woof aethereal delicately twined, Glows in the stream of the uplifting wind. His rapid steeds soon bear him to the West; Where their steep flight his hands divine arrest, And the fleet car with yoke of gold, which he Sends from bright Heaven beneath the shadowy sea

before he went back to helping the boy. Missing from the Warrior tent were Kalona and Aurox. For obvious reasons, Thanatos had decided the Tulsa community wasn’t ready to meet either of them. I agreed with her. I wasn’t ready for … I mentally shook myself. No, I wasn’t going to think about the Aurox/Heath situation now. Instead I turned my attention to the second of the big tents. Lenobia was there, keeping a sharp eye on the people who clustered like buzzing bees around Mujaji and the big Percheron mare, Bonnie. Travis was with her. Travis was always with her, which made my heart feel good. It was awesome to see Lenobia in love. The Horse Mistress was like a bright, shining beacon of joy, and with all the Darkness I’d seen lately, that was rain in my desert. “Oh, for shit’s sake, where did I put my wine? Has anyone seen my Queenies cup? As the bumpkin reminded me, my parents are here somewhere, and I’m going to need fortification by the time they circle around and find me.” Aphrodite was muttering and pawing through the boxes of unsold cookies, searching for the big purple plastic cup I’d seen her drinking from earlier. “You have wine in that Queenies to go cup?” Stevie Rae was shaking her head at Aphrodite. “And you’ve been drinkin’ it through a straw?” Shaunee joined Stevie Rae in a head shake. “Isn’t that nasty?” “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Aphrodite quipped. “There are too many nuns lurking around to drink openly without hearing a boring lecture.” Aphrodite cut her eyes to the right of us where Street Cats had set up a half-moon display of cages filled with adoptable cats and bins of catnip-filled toys for sale. The Street Cats had their own miniature version of the silver and white tents, and I could see Damien sitting inside busily handling the cash register, but except for him, running every aspect of the feline area were the habit-wearing Benedictine nuns who had made Street Cats their own. One of the nuns looked my way and I waved and grinned at the Abbess. Sister Mary Angela waved back before returning to the conversation she was having with a family who were obviously falling in love with a cute white cat that looked like a giant cottonball. “Aphrodite, the nuns are cool,” I reminded her. “And they look too busy to pay any attention to you,” Stevie Rae said. “Imagine that—you may not be the center of everyone’s attention,” Shaylin said with mock surprise. Stevie Rae covered her giggle with a cough. Before Aphrodite could say something hateful, Grandma limped up to us. Other than the limp and being pale, Grandma looked healthy and happy. It had only been a little over a week since Neferet had kidnapped and tried to kill her, but she’d recovered with amazing quickness. Thanatos had told us that was because she was in unusually good shape for a woman of her age. I knew it was because of something else—something we both shared—a special bond with a goddess who believed in giving her children free choice, along with gifting them with special abilities. Grandma was beloved of the Great Mother,

King of Qin, rides a tiger, touring eight poles Sword's light shining in empty sky from jade Xihe strikes the sun, as glass is sounded Robbed ashes fly to ends, past, present level Dragon head, flows out wine, inviting wine star Golden groove, pipa in the night: “cheng cheng” Dongting rain, upon the feet, comes blowing sheng Wine hearty, drinking moon, causes change of shape Silver clouds, dense and denser, jade temple bright Palace gates, holding affairs, announces one watch Flower house, jade phoenix, sounds seductive, fierce Sea silk fabric, red text, fragrance shallow, clear Yellow beauty, stumbles dance, thousand year vessel Celestial being, candle’s plant wax smoking lightly Goddess of Qing, drunk, tears of deepest waters

Taking her grandfather’s advice, Anna turned her head toward the sky. Clouds were moving in quickly to cover the moon and stars, but for now the stars were so bright they almost blinded her. She stared up into the sky for several minutes and then closed her eyes. Gradually, her thoughts dissolved in the glistening bounty, and Anna felt herself lifted upward, her body nearly weightless. For a fleeting moment, the world around her fell away. As if drawn by a vision, Anna drifted deep into the night, engulfed in a bright gleam. She had no thoughts, no feelings. The tears in her eyes splintered the light into countless separate beams, leading Anna toward a glittering palace of shining rays. Perfect indifference flooded her body. If only this sensation would last forever!

Through Evernight he back was borne on black and roaring waves that ran o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores that drowned before the Days began, until he heard on strands of pearl where ends the world the music long, where ever-foaming billows roll the yellow gold and jewels wan. He saw the Mountain silent rise where twilight lies upon the knees of Valinor, and Eldamar beheld afar beyond the seas. A wanderer escaped from night to haven white he came at last, to Elvenhome the green and fair where keen the air, where pale as glass beneath the Hill of Ilmarin a-glimmer in a valley sheer the lamplit towers of Tirion are mirrored on the Shadowmere. He tarried there from errantry, and melodies they taught to him, and sages old him marvels told, and harps of gold they brought to him. They clothed him then in elven-white, and seven lights before him sent, as through the Calacirian to hidden land forlorn he went. He came unto the timeless halls where shining fall the countless years, and endless reigns the Elder King in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer; and words unheard were spoken then of folk of Men and Elven-kin, beyond the world were visions showed forbid to those that dwell therein. A ship then new they built for him of mithril and of elven-glass with shining prow; no shaven oar nor sail she bore on silver mast: the Silmaril as lantern light and banner bright with living flame to gleam thereon by Elbereth herself was set, who thither came and wings immortal made for him, and laid on him undying doom, to sail the shoreless skies and come behind the Sun and light of Moon.

The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin’s Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes’ mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard. Unwearied then were Durin’s folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge’s fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

As a drop in the ocean you take part in the current, ebb and flow. You swell slowly on the land and slowly sink back again in interminably slow breaths. You wander vast distances in blurred currents and wash up on strange shores, not knowing how you got there. You mount the billows of huge storms and are swept back again into the depths. And you do not know how this happens to you. You had thought that your movement came from you and that it needed your decisions and efforts, so that you could get going and make progress. But with every conceivable effort you would never have achieved that movement and reached those areas to which the sea and the great wind of the world brought you. From endless blue plains you sink into black depths; luminous fish draw you, marvellous branches twine around you from above. You slip through columns and twisting, wavering, dark-leaved plants, and the sea takes you up again in bright green water to white, sandy coasts, and a wave foams you ashore and swallows you back again, and a wide smooth swell lifts you softly and leads you again to new regions, to twisting plants, to slowly creeping slimy polyps, and to green water and white sand and breaking surf. But from far off your heights shine to you above the sea in a golden light, like the moon emerging from the tide, and you become aware of yourself from afar. And longing seizes you and the will for your own movement. You want to cross over from being to becoming, since you have recognized the breath of the sea, and its flowing, that leads you here and there without your ever adhering; you have also recognized its surge that bears you to alien shores and carries you back, and gargles you up and down. You saw that was the life of the whole and the death of each individual. You felt yourself entwined in the collective death, from death to the earth’s deepest place, from death in your own strangely breathing depths. Oh – you long to be beyond; despair and mortal fear seize you in this death that breathes slowly and streams back and forth eternally. All this light and dark, warm, tepid, and cold water, all these wavy, swaying, twisting plantlike animals and bestial plants, all these nightly wonders become a horror to you, and you long for the sun, for light dry air, for firm stones, for a fixed place and straight lines, for the motionless and firmly held, for rules and preconceived purpose, for singleness and your own intent.

We wolves will forever be in this land, for our spirits run heavy in this place. We are made of the very earth of this land. Our spirits are the moon over the lake, of the vapor of the breaths when we run hard through fields on cold fall nights with the stars all above and around us and shining off the perfect calm of the water. Our spirit is when we are tracking deer on cold winter days, of the chase and the precise timing of the kill, and then sleeping curled together for warmth in deep snow, mouths covered in fresh, dried blood from our feasting. Our spirit is of the dark and wind and perfect stillness before a summer storm and the sounds of slow, rolling thunder off the lake, echoing through the trees. Our spirit is the smell of wet grass and wildflowers, and all the bright colors of the land and water and sky.

No direct evidence yet documents Earth’s tidal cycles more than a billion years ago, but we can be confident that 4.5 billion years ago things were a lot wilder. Not only did Earth have five-hour days, but the nearby Moon was much, much faster in its close orbit, as well. The Moon took only eighty-four hours—three and a half modern days—to go around Earth. With Earth spinning so fast and the Moon orbiting so fast, the familiar cycle of new Moon, waxing Moon, full Moon, and waning Moon played out in frenetic fast-forward: every few five-hour days saw a new lunar phase. Lots of consequences follow from this truth, some less benign than others. With such a big lunar obstruction in the sky and such rapid orbital motions, eclipses would have been frequent events. A total solar eclipse would have occurred every eighty-four hours at virtually every new Moon, when the Moon was positioned between Earth and the Sun. For some few minutes, sunlight would have been completely blocked, while the stars and planets suddenly popped out against a black sky, and the Moon’s fiery volcanoes and magma oceans stood out starkly red against the black lunar disk. Total lunar eclipses occurred regularly as well, almost every forty-two hours later, like clockwork. During every full Moon, when Earth lies right between the Sun and the Moon, Earth’s big shadow would have completely obscured the giant face of the bright shining Moon. Once again the stars and planets would have suddenly popped out against a black sky, as the Moon’s volcanoes put on their ruddy show. Monster tides were a far more violent consequence of the Moon’s initial proximity. Had both Earth and the Moon been perfectly rigid solid bodies, they would appear today much as they did 4.5 billion years ago: 15,000 miles apart with rapid rotational and orbital motions and frequent eclipses. But Earth and the Moon are not rigid. Their rocks can flex and bend; especially when molten, they swell and recede with the tides. The young Moon, at a distance of 15,000 miles, exerted tremendous tidal forces on Earth’s rocks, even as Earth exerted an equal and opposite gravitational force on the largely molten lunar landscape. It’s difficult to imagine the immense magma tides that resulted. Every few hours Earth’s largely molten rocky surface may have bulged a mile or more outward toward the Moon, generating tremendous internal friction, adding more heat and thus keeping the surface molten far longer than on an isolated planet. And Earth’s gravity returned the favor, bulging the Earth-facing side of the Moon outward, deforming our satellite out of perfect roundness.

On the Beach at Night Alone On the beach at night alone, As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song, As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future. A vast similitude interlocks all, All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, All distances of place however wide, All distances of time, all inanimate forms, All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds, All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes, All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages, All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe, All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future, This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann’d, And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

Flower Beds by Maisie Aletha Smikle Flower beds in a row Like tic toc toe Spread the mulch Pluck the weeds and mow Water the flower beds And flowers will bud Colorful blooms All season long Welcome the sunshine From heaven’s furnace Anchored far up in the sky Gentle rays beam from up above A round ball of fire way up in the sky Always suspended in the anchored sky Shines its radiant beams from way up high Warming the sprouting flower beds Sunlight Moonlight Starlight Warm gentle and bright Make the flower beds bright Glowing softly in the night Thanks for the moon Thanks for the stars Thanks for the sun Thanks for the soft radiant beams of light That make the flower beds beautiful and bright In colorful shades of red Yellow orange black pink Purple green and white In the blooming flower bed Sat a rabbit called Skip Watching the horizon as the circle of fire slowly dip Diving slowly into the ocean deep

He spoke about the different beauties of Spring and Autumn. 'Each has its own delight,' he said. 'On Spring nights the sky is beautifully shrouded with mist. The moon then is not too bright and its light seems to be floating away in the distance. How delightful it is at such a time to hear someone plucking gently at the strings of a lute that have been set in the key of the Fragrant Breeze! When Autumn comes the sky is still misty, but the lucent moon shines through so clearly that one feels one could pick it up in one's hands. The soughing of the wind and the hum of the insects blend in such a way that all the savours of Nature seem to have come together. At such moments the strumming of the great zither accompanied by the clear notes of a flute makes one wonder how one could ever have admired Spring. But then there is a Winter night when the sky is chill, the air bitter cold, and the piles of snow reflect in the moonlight.

The two girls descended the slope of the little mountain. A few steps round a turn in the pathway which skirted the foot of it took them to the pavilion. Near the water's edge, linking it with Lotus Pavilion farther along the shore, was a bamboo railing. The two old women who were on night watch in it, little imagining that an overspill from the hilltop party would come their way, had long since put their light out and gone to sleep. Dai-yu and Xiang-yun laughed when they saw that the pavilion was in darkness. "They've gone to sleep. Never mind. All the better. Let's sit outside here on the covered verandah and look at the moonlight on the water." They found a couple of drum shaped bamboo stools to sit down on. A great white moon in the water reflected the great white moon above, competing with it in brightness. The girls felt like mermaids sitting in a shining crystal palace beneath the sea. A little wind that brushed over the surface of the water making tiny ripples seemed to cleanse their souls and fill them with buoyant lightness.

- Then tell me of your long journey home, Ada said. Inman thought about it, but then he let himself imagine he had at last come out on the far side of trouble and had no wish to revisit it, so he told only how along the way he watched the nights of the moon and counted them out to twenty-eight and then started over, how he watched Orion climb higher up the slope of sky night by night, and how he had tried to walk with no hope and no fear but had failed miserably, for he had done both. But how on the best days of walking he achieved some success in matching his thoughts to the weather, dark or bright, so as to attune with what freak of God's mind sent cloud or shine. Then he added, I met a number of folks on the way. There was a goatwoman that fed me, and she claimed it's a sign of God's mercy that He won't let us remember the reddest details of pain. He knows the parts we can't bear and won't let our minds render them again. In time, from disuse, they pale away. At least such was her thinking. God lays the unbearable on you and then takes some back.

I like rainbows. We came back down to the meadow near the steaming terrace and sat in the river, just where one of the bigger hot streams poured into the cold water of the Ferris Fork. It is illegal – not to say suicidal – to bathe in any of the thermal features of the park. But when those features empty into the river, at what is called a hot pot, swimming and soaking are perfectly acceptable. So we were soaking off our long walk, talking about our favorite waterfalls, and discussing rainbows when it occurred to us that the moon was full. There wasn’t a hint of foul weather. And if you had a clear sky and a waterfall facing in just the right direction… Over the course of a couple of days we hked back down the canyon to the Boundary Creek Trail and followed it to Dunanda Falls, which is only about eight miles from the ranger station at the entrance to the park. Dunanda is a 150-foot-high plunge facing generally south, so that in the afternoons reliable rainbows dance over the rocks at its base. It is the archetype of all western waterfalls. Dunenda is an Indian name; in Shoshone it means “straight down,” which is a pretty good description of the plunge. ... …We had to walk three miles back toward the ranger station and our assigned campsite. We planned to set up our tents, eat, hang our food, and walk back to Dunanda Falls in the dark, using headlamps. We could be there by ten or eleven. At that time the full moon would clear the east ridge of the downriver canyon and would be shining directly on the fall. Walking at night is never a happy proposition, and this particular evening stroll involved five stream crossings, mostly on old logs, and took a lot longer than we’d anticipated. Still, we beat the moon to the fall. Most of us took up residence in one or another of the hot pots. Presently the moon, like a floodlight, rose over the canyon rim. The falling water took on a silver tinge, and the rock wall, which had looked gold under the sun, was now a slick black so the contrast of water and rock was incomparably stark. The pools below the lip of the fall were glowing, as from within, with a pale blue light. And then it started at the base of the fall: just a diagonal line in the spray that ran from the lower east to the upper west side of the wall. “It’s going to happen,” I told Kara, who was sitting beside me in one of the hot pots. Where falling water hit the rock at the base of the fall and exploded upward in vapor, the light was very bright. It concentrated itself in a shining ball. The diagonal line was above and slowly began to bend until, in the fullness of time (ten minutes, maybe), it formed a perfectly symmetrical bow, shining silver blue under the moon. The color was vaguely electrical. Kara said she could see colors in the moonbow, and when I looked very hard, I thought I could make out a faint line of reddish orange above, and some deep violet at the bottom. Both colors were very pale, flickering, like bad florescent light. In any case, it was exhilarating, the experience of a lifetime: an entirely perfect moonbow, silver and iridescent, all shining and spectral there at the base of Dunanda Falls. The hot pot itself was a luxury, and I considered myself a pretty swell fellow, doing all this for the sanity of city dwellers, who need such things more than anyone else. I even thought of naming the moonbow: Cahill’s Luminescence. Something like that. Otherwise, someone else might take credit for it.

echoing quality, as if another voice had joined it. “The forest will fall. . . .” Now there was a third, all the voices twining together. Lionblaze thought he saw a shimmer on the surface of the marsh. He blinked; then every hair on his pelt stood on end. Two cats balanced on the surface of the mud: one a big tabby with a torn ear, the other a small gray-and-white tom. Frost sparkled at their paws and starlight was reflected in their eyes. “Raggedstar! Runningnose!” Littlecloud exclaimed from among the uprooted trees. Blackfoot stopped his frantic clawing and stared, his mouth dropping open. “Sol’s time in ShadowClan must come to an end,” Raggedstar meowed, his gaze locked with Blackfoot’s. “He is like the darkness that covered the sun.” “He seems to have taken over your Clan,” Runningnose put in, “but he will pass and be forgotten in the brightness that follows. Brightness that will shine on ShadowClan for countless moons.” “I . . . I hear you,” Blackfoot stammered. “I’ll do as you say.” Littlecloud dipped his head as respectfully as he could with twigs clutching at his pelt. “ShadowClan will return to our warrior ancestors,” he promised, and added, “What have you done with our apprentice?

Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place. To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim–the rocks–the motion of the waves–the ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there?

Summer days and junior year, you are my sunshine that brightens up my full moon; we are going to soar together, we will not need to wish upon a star because our dreams will, at last, become true. There may be dark clouds overhead, and times of rain. This may be there showering upon us, but love still grows, we will not care, we will be there looking at that view that goes on for miles. Sometimes we will have to cope with the rainfall that wants to keep us apart. Sometimes I think that I am going to lose my way to you. While the gray storms end up taking our joyful colors away once more. Upon the clear, we stand together at last… arm in arm, and hand and hand, we are laced, and we embrace one another. The colors of red, blue, and pink are the sky once more. Plus, all along you were there, this time we share. The colors begin setting the mood and light ones more. All the vivid gold sights with the feelings of being united and that will be us as a pair. The many stars shine bright because we are going to be there all night, holding on to what we had that night. I used to bite my lips, thinking about that gold band, and the sparkly rock on top. You can make me feel like royalty; yes, I will be your queen ruler. Maybe someday all this will not be a fantasy and the dreams will come true when we look at a different view, just me and you.

Outside, the night was soft and fresh. There was a half-moon shining brightly in a field of stars, a glowing ring of light surrounding it, and it had made a trail across the bay that showed in places through the darker screen of trees. They walked in silence, and she breathed the mingled scents of wildflowers sleeping in the shadows, and the salt air of the sea. He had not let go of her hand. She did not want him to. They did not leave the clearing but at length they reached its edge, where rustling branches stretched above them and the light and noise and music of the barn seemed far away. One heart-shaped leaf fell from a nearby tree and landed on his shoulder and unthinkingly she lifted her free hand to brush it off before it marked the white coat she had worked so hard and long to clean. She felt him looking down at her, and glancing up self-consciously she started to explain. And lost the words. And then he bent his head and kissed her. Everything around her seemed to stop, and still, and cease to matter. She could not have said how long it lasted. Not long, probably. It was a gentle kiss but at the same time fierce and sure and full of all the pent-up feelings she herself had fought these past months, and now she knew he had felt them just as she had, and had fought them, too. It was a great release to give up fighting. Give up everything, and float in the sensation.

There was Brunhilde, a star shining high above the hillside behind her, dark, rippling hair hanging below her waist, standing in full command, spear in hand. Constance could not help thinking the star so large and bright might have shone over Bethlehem. She was momentarily grateful for her veil, not only for the concealment of her identity but also of her amused response to the scene before her. She struggled to contain herself as her eyes moved to the second vignette: here was fair Juliet, standing beneath rather than on her balcony, garbed in simple lines, her head wreathed in flowers, a cross of stars high above her. Ah, those star-crossed lovers, thought Constance. Again, she was glad that she could hide her amusement. How clever these women, she thought. The third was Semiramis, a quarter moon low above the exotic turrets behind her crowned head, a long-handled fan in her hand, like the fan of a servant. How should Constance interpret this? At once she noticed the replication of the shape of Brunhilde’s spear, but it was enlarged. Semiramis, the queen who had served for her son yet had conquered her foes and enlarged her kingdom. And was this moon waxing or waning? Rising or setting? Or perhaps the enigma of a waxing moon rising. Ah, somehow that was comfort. Last, before a rising sun, framed by trees that reached out to touch one another, stood Pocahontas, her costume appearing authentic, a feather in her headdress, the emblematizing dawn of a new age, a new woman in a new world. May it be so, thought Constance.

The Story of the Moon Once, night, unchallenged, extended its dark grace across the sky. To the credit of the town, the stars at night had been enough, though sometimes the townspeople went about bumping their heads in sleep. Eventually, three brothers, traveling through a foreign town, found an evening that did not disappear behind the mountains, for a shining globe sat in an oak tree. The brothers stopped. That one is the moon, said a man from the foreign town. The brothers conferred. They could make a certain use of it. The brothers stole the moon down and put it in their wagon. Seized it. Thieved its silver. Altogether greedy. The wagon shining brights. At home: the moon delivered. Then, celebration: dancing in red coats on the meadow. Number four brother smiling wide. The moon installed--it extended its silver calculations. Time and more time. The brothers aged, took sick, petitioned the town that each quarter of the moon, as it was their property, be portioned out to share their graves. Done, and the light of the moon diminished in fractions. They had extinguished it, part for part, and night, unimpeded, fell. Altogether lanternless. The people were silent. The dark rang loud. Underground: cold blazing. The dead woke, shivering in the light. Some went out to play and dance, others hastened to the taverns to drink, quarrel, and brawl. Noise and more noise. Noise up to heaven. Saint Peter took his red horse through the gates and came down. The moon, for the third time, taken. The dead bidden back into their graves. One wonders why a story like this exists.

Time, Light, Space, You and I! In the spaces unknown and very high, There where they say we all go when we die, I fled my Earthly shadows to hide in that space high, Where I did not obstruct light but I let it pass by. Through me into its vast arena of cosmic lights, Where there are no shadows because there are no egos and no fights, Where all that shines is not merely due to bright lights, Because in stars too I have seen some Divine delights. That shine through them in those starry nights, When the moon is silent, the sun is humble and the stars don't rumble, I have witnessed sights during those nights, Which even render the brightest sun humble. It is a journey beyond the realm of time, Where time controls nothing because it loses its infinity, Because there light dictates the values of time, Where light does not bend because it alters its proclivity. There, I have seen time bending in that discreet space, Where all laws of Earthly logic fail to compile anything, There time obeys just the factors of light and space, Where to a naked eye only hollowness spreads giving rise to nothing. In actuality it is there time changes its character, Because light assumes a new form, And when new logics takeover and change the cosmic character, Only then I am able to see a universe in a law that is so uniform. I wish to take you on these secret journeys with me, Irma and I, and I shall show you how reality bends in that dimension, But only if you are willing to allow me, To let me love you even in that highest and exalted mansion, Where light behaves differently because time too bends, I will take you there to steal a moment from time that never ends, But it shall be upto you to choose what you wish to see when time bends, Because time and light do not embark on leisurely errands. So hold my hand when we reach that height, And do not panic when you witness newer cosmic lights, Manufacturing time to be able to reach those infinite heights, To please Someone and to be the cause of those infinite cosmic delights. Stand beside me only if you are sure, Because to embark on a beautiful journey seeking eternity, Is not meant for those who are unsure, But for those who believe in the Divine sanity. Where light obstructs time but time never obstructs the light, Where I can not hide behind you nor you can hide behind me, Because there everything that is bright is not light, So stay with me my love and what a wonderful journey of love and wonder it shall be!

My dear Marwan, in the long summers of childhood, when I was a boy the age you are now, your uncles and I spread our mattress on the roof of your grandfathers’ farmhouse outside of Hom. We woke in the mornings to the stirring of olive trees in the breeze, to the bleating of your grandmother's goat, the clanking of her cooking pots, the air cool and the sun a pale rim of persimmon to the east. We took you there when you were a toddler. I have a sharply etched memory of your mother from that trip. I wish you hadn’t been so young. You wouldn't have forgotten the farmhouse, the soot of its stone walls, the creek where your uncles and I built a thousand boyhood dams. I wish you remembered Homs as I do, Marwan. In its bustling Old City, a mosque for us Muslims, a church for our Christian neighbours, and a grand souk for us all to haggle over gold pendants and fresh produce and bridal dresses. I wish you remembered the crowded lanes smelling of fried kibbeh and the evening walks we took with your mother around Clock Tower Square. But that life, that time, seems like a dream now, even to me, like some long-dissolved rumour. First came the protests. Then the siege. The skies spitting bombs. Starvation. Burials. These are the things you know You know a bomb crater can be made into a swimming hole. You have learned dark blood is better news than bright. You have learned that mothers and sisters and classmates can be found in narrow gaps between concrete, bricks and exposed beams, little patches of sunlit skin shining in the dark. Your mother is here tonight, Marwan, with us, on this cold and moonlit beach, among the crying babies and the women worrying in tongues we don’t speak. Afghans and Somalis and Iraqis and Eritreans and Syrians. All of us impatient for sunrise, all of us in dread of it. All of us in search of home. I have heard it said we are the uninvited. We are the unwelcome. We should take our misfortune elsewhere. But I hear your mother's voice, over the tide, and she whispers in my ear, ‘Oh, but if they saw, my darling. Even half of what you have. If only they saw. They would say kinder things, surely.' In the glow of this three-quarter moon, my boy, your eyelashes like calligraphy, closed in guileless sleep. I said to you, ‘Hold my hand. Nothing bad will happen.' These are only words. A father's tricks. It slays your father, your faith in him. Because all I can think tonight is how deep the sea, and how powerless I am to protect you from it. Pray God steers the vessel true, when the shores slip out of eyeshot and we are in the heaving waters, pitching and tilting, easily swallowed. Because you, you are precious cargo, Marwan, the most precious there ever was. I pray the sea knows this. Inshallah. How I pray the sea knows this.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. …yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple’s self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast, That, whether there be shine, or gloom o’ercast, They alway must be with us, or we die. For ‘twas the morn: Apollo’s upward fire Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre Of brightness so unsullied, that therein A melancholy spirit well might win Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine Into the winds: rain-scented eglantine Gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun; Man’s voice was on the mountains; and the mass Of nature’s lives and wonders puls’d tenfold, To feel this sun-rise and its glories old. With a faint breath of music, which ev’n then Fill’d out its voice, and died away again. Within a little space again it gave Its airy swellings, with a gentle wave, To light-hung leaves, in smoothest echoes breaking Through copse-clad vallies,—ere their death, oer-taking The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea. All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay Watching the zenith, where the milky way Among the stars in virgin splendour pours; And travelling my eye, until the doors Of heaven appear’d to open for my flight, I became loth and fearful to alight From such high soaring by a downward glance: So kept me stedfast in that airy trance, Spreading imaginary pinions wide. When, presently, the stars began to glide, And lo! from opening clouds, I saw emerge The loveliest moon, that ever silver’d o’er A shell for Neptune’s goblet: she did soar So passionately bright, my dazzled soul Commingling with her argent spheres did roll Through clear and cloudy, even when she went At last into a dark and vapoury tent— Whereat, methought, the lidless-eyed train Of planets all were in the blue again. To commune with those orbs, once more I rais’d My sight right upward: but it was quite dazed By a bright something, sailing down apace, Making me quickly veil my eyes and face: What I know not: but who, of men, can tell That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail, The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale, The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones, The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones, Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet, If human souls did never kiss and greet?

The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright — And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done — "It's very rude of him," she said, "To come and spoil the fun." The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead — There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: If this were only cleared away,' They said, it would be grand!' If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose,' the Walrus said, That they could get it clear?' I doubt it,' said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear. O Oysters, come and walk with us!' The Walrus did beseech. A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each.' The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head — Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed. But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat — And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't any feet. Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more — All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore. The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row. The time has come,' the Walrus said, To talk of many things: Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax — Of cabbages — and kings — And why the sea is boiling hot — And whether pigs have wings.' But wait a bit,' the Oysters cried, Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!' No hurry!' said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that. A loaf of bread,' the Walrus said, Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed — Now if you're ready, Oysters dear, We can begin to feed.' But not on us!' the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue. After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!' The night is fine,' the Walrus said. Do you admire the view? It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!' The Carpenter said nothing but Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf — I've had to ask you twice!' It seems a shame,' the Walrus said, To play them such a trick, After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!' The Carpenter said nothing but The butter's spread too thick!' I weep for you,' the Walrus said: I deeply sympathize.' With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes. O Oysters,' said the Carpenter, You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?' But answer came there none — And this was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one.

The Monk in the Kitchen I ORDER is a lovely thing; On disarray it lays its wing, Teaching simplicity to sing. It has a meek and lowly grace, Quiet as a nun's face. Lo—I will have thee in this place! Tranquil well of deep delight, All things that shine through thee appear As stones through water, sweetly clear. Thou clarity, That with angelic charity Revealest beauty where thou art, Spread thyself like a clean pool. Then all the things that in thee are, Shall seem more spiritual and fair, Reflection from serener air— Sunken shapes of many a star In the high heavens set afar. II Ye stolid, homely, visible things, Above you all brood glorious wings Of your deep entities, set high, Like slow moons in a hidden sky. But you, their likenesses, are spent Upon another element. Truly ye are but seemings— The shadowy cast-oft gleamings Of bright solidities. Ye seem Soft as water, vague as dream; Image, cast in a shifting stream. III What are ye? I know not. Brazen pan and iron pot, Yellow brick and gray flag-stone That my feet have trod upon— Ye seem to me Vessels of bright mystery. For ye do bear a shape, and so Though ye were made by man, I know An inner Spirit also made, And ye his breathings have obeyed. IV Shape, the strong and awful Spirit, Laid his ancient hand on you. He waste chaos doth inherit; He can alter and subdue. Verily, he doth lift up Matter, like a sacred cup. Into deep substance he reached, and lo Where ye were not, ye were; and so Out of useless nothing, ye Groaned and laughed and came to be. And I use you, as I can, Wonderful uses, made for man, Iron pot and brazen pan. V What are ye? I know not; Nor what I really do When I move and govern you. There is no small work unto God. He required of us greatness; Of his least creature A high angelic nature, Stature superb and bright completeness. He sets to us no humble duty. Each act that he would have us do Is haloed round with strangest beauty; Terrific deeds and cosmic tasks Of his plainest child he asks. When I polish the brazen pan I hear a creature laugh afar In the gardens of a star, And from his burning presence run Flaming wheels of many a sun. Whoever makes a thing more bright, He is an angel of all light. When I cleanse this earthen floor My spirit leaps to see Bright garments trailing over it, A cleanness made by me. Purger of all men's thoughts and ways, With labor do I sound Thy praise, My work is done for Thee. Whoever makes a thing more bright, He is an angel of all light. Therefore let me spread abroad The beautiful cleanness of my God. VI One time in the cool of dawn Angels came and worked with me. The air was soft with many a wing. They laughed amid my solitude And cast bright looks on everything. Sweetly of me did they ask That they might do my common task And all were beautiful—but one With garments whiter than the sun Had such a face Of deep, remembered grace; That when I saw I cried—"Thou art The great Blood-Brother of my heart. Where have I seen thee?"—And he said, "When we are dancing round God's throne, How often thou art there. Beauties from thy hands have flown Like white doves wheeling in mid air. Nay—thy soul remembers not? Work on, and cleanse thy iron pot.

At night I look up into the stars, Well the moon looks shining, Glint of light blimp my eyes, I seem to be flying in the air, Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. It's okay to fly, instead of worrying I could die, In the air I use to travel over half million mile, My eyes seems to be blind, Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. It scares me to fly, It often makes me nervous, Again I try light blimp my eye, Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. I far, far more likely to fly, I breathe closely, to the sky, If there were no light, I could feel bright, Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. Sometimes I breathe, breathe, Sometimes I close my eyes, I felt like touching the sky, Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky. Whenever I fly I feel like I touched the sky.

I love the fact that the moon is imperfect but it still shines. Shine bright in all the phases of your life...

Fantasy Oh, to walk in the woods, late at night With the smell of the rain in the air With our breaths coming quickly and tight And the moon shining brightly and fair. Oh, to walk, and to talk, and to kiss. Oh, to want and to do, and to dare. Oh, to live in a rapturous bliss, Without torment, or struggle, or care.

A soul shines as bright as a full moon. A heart beats as fast as a cheetah. An emotional journey is nothing without guts and hope.

18 Violence shall no more be heard of in thy land, neither desolation, nor destruction within thy borders: but thou shalt call salvation, thy walls, and praise, thy gates. 19 Thou shalt have no more sun to shine by day, neither shall the brightness of the moon shine unto thee: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and thy God, thy glory.

Amidst the new moon, a long night of darkness, a bright star emerges to shine in the night sky.

Often, I lose myself in the constellation of my own ideas, forever searching for points of illumination. But no matter where I look, I find you, shining and bright, offering me whatever it is I seek. You are my one single star. My sun, my moon, my guide and direction. I know as long as I have you, I’ll never lose my way. Even if I cannot touch you, I know I will see you, feel you, from anywhere. If I need you, I know where to find you.

So with hearts made high these sat night-long by the outworks of battle, and their watchfires blazed numerous about them. As when in the sky the stars about the moon’s shining are seen in all their glory, when the air has fallen to stillness, and all the high places of the hills are clear, and the shoulders out-jutting, and the deep ravines, as endless bright air spills from the heavens and all the stars are seen, to make glad the heart of the shepherd; such in their numbers blazed the watchfires the Trojans were burning between the waters of Xanthos and the ships, before Ilion. A thousand fires were burning there in the plain, and beside each one sat fifty men in the flare of the blazing firelight. And standing each beside his chariot, champing white barley and oats, the horses waited for the dawn to mount to her high place.

Even on your bad days, you are someone’s entire universe. Not just their world. You are more than that. You are the stars that shine bright. The moon that holds us close at night, showing that we are not alone. You are the planets, bringing life and love to more than you know. You are the sun, that shows us there are new beginnings each and every day. Please, stay.

My Seclusion Just like, I remember the- Fireflies at night, they all carry their- own light in flight. They fly higher and higher until they are out of sight. They are never in fear of the darkness because they carry their light. They constantly have hope, and it shines brightly. The firefly flies by, unlike me there are never shy. I am lying outside on the grounds a few feet from my home, yet I am still feeling all alone, listening to all the sounds of the night as they moan. I look at the full moon, knowing that I will be back in hell soon, seeing all the faces at lunch at noon. Wondering what is going to happen on my vacation in the upcoming summer in the months like in June. I lie on the cold hard ground outside looking up with the stars in the sky, remembering all the days flashing that have gone by, seeing all the faces that never even say hi, remembering the terror from the wandering eyes. (Right now) My head is pounding just like the thunder and lightning, the evil faces streaks crossed my face, with every bolt of lightning. This takes me back to when I was a little girl; I hope that the pink suspended feathers sweep them away in the white webs. So, I can have a sunny day on all these rainy days that seem to never end, I just do not have much to say. I am not safe anywhere… the voices haunt me as they do. However, I just have an overwhelming urge to cry, all night and watch movies by myself. Like, I have done, these last two years of my high school life. Is anything going to change? Why must I live like this? Why do I keep living? Why can I not just pass on? I look out my window, and sometimes it takes me back to when I was young. Some days I look out the window and the skies are scarlet, and that reminds me that I should be out doing things with people of my age. The summer has come and gone, and the school days have started with no one to see me, or even ask if I was alive. No one cares! Is the plan going to work? I have no idea at this point, yet I keep trying!

Soar, Mo, reach for the stars or the moon or another universe altogether, and shine so bright you blind everyone around you, and though I am gone, carry me with you, but only as lightness and never as weight . . .

Boys and girls come out to play...'" "'The moon doth shine as bright as day!'" Rapunzel finished. She thought of the bright, cold winter full moon that cast a light so strong that windows in her tower lit up like magic, and instead of sunbeams, blue moonbeams traced the floor. She would run to the tower window.... Leave your supper and leave your sleep... ... and the whole world would be white and blue, as bright as daytime, but with a glowing, magical scrim. Rapunzel had felt like she could dive into it, fly over the whole world in its strange state. And join your playfellows in the street. Her hair began to glow.

(Verse 1) In the glow of a **dawn's early light**, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a **gentle breeze**, These little things, oh how they please. (Chorus) It's the **simple joys** that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the **warmth of the sun's heat**, A **smile from a stranger**, a **child's laugh** so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. (Verse 2) A **dog's wagging tail**, a **porch swing's sway**, The **colors of flowers** that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the **sweet old memories** that never lack. (Chorus) It's the **simple joys** that make life sweet, The **harvest moon**, the **stars at your feet**, A **hand to hold**, a **heart to meet**, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. (Bridge) So take a moment, let's **make it last**, These **simple pleasures** are our repast, From the **morning sun** to the **evening's glow**, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. (Outro) So here's to the **little things**, the **joy they bring**, In the **quiet moments**, let your heart sing, For life's a **tapestry**, woven with care, In the **simplest joys**, we find love to share.

In the glow of a **dawn's early light**, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a **gentle breeze**, These little things, oh how they please. It's the **simple joys** that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the **warmth of the sun's heat**, A **smile from a stranger**, a **child's laugh** so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. A **dog's wagging tail**, a **porch swing's sway**, The **colors of flowers** that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the **sweet old memories** that never lack. It's the **simple joys** that make life sweet, The **harvest moon**, the **stars at your feet**, A **hand to hold**, a **heart to meet**, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. So take a moment, let's **make it last**, These **simple pleasures** are our repast, From the **morning sun** to the **evening's glow**, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. So here's to the **little things**, the **joy they bring**, In the **quiet moments**, let your heart sing, For life's a **tapestry**, woven with care, In the **simplest joys**, we find love to share.

In the glow of a dawn's early light, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a gentle breeze, These little things, oh how they please. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the warmth of the sun's heat**, A smile from a stranger, a child's laugh so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. A dog's wagging tail, a porch swing's sway, The colors of flowers that brighten the day, A **song on the radio** that takes you back, To the*sweet old memories that never lack. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The*harvest moon, the stars at your feet, A hand to hold, a heart to meet, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. So take a moment, let's make it last, These*simple pleasures are our repast, From the*morning sun to the evening's glow, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. So here's to the little things, the joy they bring, In the quiet moments, let your heart sing, For life's a tapestry, woven with care, In the*simplest joys, we find love to share.

In the glow of a dawn's early light, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a gentle breeze, These little things, oh how they please. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the warmth of the sun's heat, A smile from a stranger, a child's laugh so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. A dog's wagging tail, a porch swing's sway, The colors of flowers that brighten the day, A song on the radio that takes you back, To the sweet old memories that never lack. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The*harvest moon, the stars at your feet, A hand to hold, a heart to meet, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. So take a moment, let's make it last, These*simple pleasures are our repast, From the*morning sun to the evening's glow, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. So here's to the little things, the joy they bring, In the quiet moments, let your heart sing, For life's a tapestry, woven with care, In the*simplest joys, we find love to share.

In the glow of a dawn's early light, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a gentle breeze, These little things, oh how they please. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the warmth of the sun's heat, A smile from a stranger, a child's laugh so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. A dog's wagging tail, a porch swing's sway, The colors of flowers that brighten the day, A song on the radio that takes you back, To the sweet old memories that never lack. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The*harvest moon, the stars at your feet, A hand to hold, a heart to meet, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. So take a moment, let's make it last, These simple pleasures are our repast, From the*morning sun to the evening's glow, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. So here's to the little things, the joy they bring, In the quiet moments, let your heart sing, For life's a tapestry, woven with care, In the*simplest joys, we find love to share.

In the glow of a dawn's early light, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a gentle breeze, These little things, oh how they please. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the warmth of the sun's heat, A smile from a stranger, a child's laugh so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. A dog's wagging tail, a porch swing's sway, The colors of flowers that brighten the day, A song on the radio that takes you back, To the sweet old memories that never lack. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The*harvest moon, the stars at your feet, A hand to hold, a heart to meet, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. So take a moment, let's make it last, These simple pleasures are our repast, From the morning sun to the evening's glow, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. So here's to the little things, the joy they bring, In the quiet moments, let your heart sing, For life's a tapestry, woven with care, In the simplest joys, we find love to share.

In the glow of a dawn's early light, With the dew on the grass, shining so bright, A cup of coffee, a gentle breeze, These little things, oh how they please. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The sound of rain, the warmth of the sun's heat, A smile from a stranger, a child's laugh so wild, In every little thing, life's beauty is compiled. A dog's wagging tail, a porch swing's sway, The colors of flowers that brighten the day, A song on the radio that takes you back, To the sweet old memories that never lack. It's the simple joys that make life sweet, The harvest moon, the stars at your feet, A hand to hold, a heart to meet, In every little thing, life's beauty is complete. So take a moment, let's make it last, These simple pleasures are our repast, From the morning sun to the evening's glow, It's the little things that make our spirits grow. So here's to the little things, the joy they bring, In the quiet moments, let your heart sing, For life's a tapestry, woven with care, In the simplest joys, we find love to share.

You," she says. "Your aura shines, sweetheart. Don't ever let anyone blow the light out on your brightness just because they don't shine themselves.

All Yang’s men were in by midday and our party straggled in later completely done in. Chuen came in first. He was wearing a dark green commando’s beret, long green canvas boots with rubber soles – American jungle boots – and green battle-dress with lovely blue parachute wings over his left pocket. He is a little cheerful man and speaks fair English. Then came Humpleman, very young, blue-eyed, with a bland and serious manner; then Jim Hannah, lean, dark, hook-nosed, moustached, and over forty. At one time he was a journalist and in the rubber slump in Malaya he worked in Australia. Then came Harrison, short, with red face and sandy hair – a very silent Scot, also a planter. John and Richard brought up the rear, absolutely exhausted but very contented. After a meal they had got out on to the field and had everything ready an hour before midnight. Then they waited and waited and, as nothing happened, they got more and more worried and despondent. One hour late, then two hours. It was bitterly cold, and at last they were just talking of returning home when a faint drone was heard from the west. They were so excited that their hearts almost choked them! At last the Lib came over. Apparently she followed up the Perak river, then came across on a bearing. The moon was shining brilliantly and the sky was covered with high, white, fleecy clouds. The fires, freshly stoked with dry atap, burned up brightly, and Quayle with his torch flashed the recognition letter faster and faster with growing excitement as the great Lib, after flying round in a wide circle, swooped overhead, vast and glistening in the moonlight. Suddenly four little white balls seemed to appear in the plane’s wake, and four tiny black forms were seen swinging from side to side below them. John, Richard, and Frank all agreed it was the most exciting moment of their lives. While they were still lost in wonder, things started happening. Hannah and Harrison landed beautifully and were immediately fielded, but Humpleman fell in the stream and was retrieved soaking wet. The containers and packages, which had been released immediately after the bodies, now came down and all landed

The north star shines bright at night  and the northern lights dance  like Ballerina in the Sky over the forest and rivers above the white snowy land the eagle glides across above the land across the moon we are all small and insignificant in the broken realm of life

Silver is cool and hard and poised like he is, like the reflection of a full moon glowing off the surface of a lake. Gold is warm and bright and soft like she is, like the sun shining over endless fields with the promise of summer.

He kissed her in the garden, When the moon was shining bright But she was a marble statue, and He was drunk that night.

The Little Star That Could" Once upon a time, in a sky far, far away, there was a little star named Twinkle. Unlike the other stars that shone brightly every night, Twinkle was just a tiny speck of light. Every night, she looked at her bright friends and wished she could shine as brightly as they did. One night, the Moon came by and saw Twinkle looking sad. "Why so glum, little star?" asked the Moon. "I'm not as bright as the others. I want to shine brightly too," Twinkle replied. The Moon smiled gently and said, "Every star has its own time to shine. You have a special light within you, and one day, you'll find it." Encouraged by the Moon's words, Twinkle decided to try harder. She started by helping a lost night bird find its way home. Then, she twinkled as best as she could to guide sailors at sea. With every good deed, she felt a warm glow inside. Days passed, and Twinkle kept doing good deeds. One night, as she helped a little girl find her way home, she felt a sudden warmth. Twinkle looked down and saw that the little girl was looking up at her and smiling. The girl whispered, "Thank you, little star, for guiding me home." At that moment, Twinkle felt a burst of joy and, to her surprise, she began to shine brighter than ever before. All the other stars noticed and cheered, "Look, Twinkle is shining so brightly!" From that day on, Twinkle became known as the star who shines the brightest, not just with her light, but with her kindness and love. And she learned that it's not just about how bright you are, but about the warmth you bring to others' lives. And so, Twinkle continues to shine, reminding everyone that even the smallest star can make a big difference. The End.

The sky is dark, but the moon shines bright, Peggy. You are my moon. My heart is dark, but you fill me with light, joy, and happiness

The moon can only shine so bright, which is why it needs the stars to help it.

And running through his story, from adolescence to adulthood, always by moonlight, but bright as the sun, there was Charissa. But this was a different Charissa to the one he thought he knew; that fierce and cynical Moth girl, loyal only to herself. Here was Charissa as a girl, hopeful and filled with laughter. Here, as an adolescent, wise one moment, childish the next. Here, she glanced out from the pages as an adult, a lover, a friend; dancing in the firelight, poised against the starry sky. Here, she was trusting, loving, unmasked, gentle and filled with confidences. Here, by the light of the full moon, she was not only beautiful, she was by far the most beautiful woman Tom had ever seen. And now Tom Argent realized what he should have guessed before, what he should have seen in her eyes while he had been dazzled by someone else. She was the girl on the bridge, the one who had kissed him so tenderly. Hers was the shine he had recognized, reflected in Vanessa. She had been the memory contained in the flower seller's gift, the flower that only blossoms once, like innocence--- Like true love.

You are made of sunlight. Remember, even in the deep dark depths of night, the sun shines through reflecting on the moons to remind us how special she is. How bright she burns. You are beautiful, treasured, and seen, please never forget that.

MY LOVE FOR YOU November 5, 2024 at 10:41 AM Verse 1: In the morning light, your face is my dawn Every smile you give, it’s where I belong With every beat of my heart, every whisper of the breeze My love for you, it’s all I need Chorus: My love for you, it’s a never-ending tale Through the highs and lows, it will never fail With every star in the sky, and the oceans so blue My love for you, forever true Verse 2: In the quiet of the night, with the moon shining bright In your arms, I find my light With every touch, every glance we share My love for you, beyond compare Chorus: My love for you, it’s a never-ending tale Through the highs and lows, it will never fail With every star in the sky, and the oceans so blue My love for you, forever true Bridge: Through the storms of life, we’ll stand strong With your hand in mine, where we belong With a love so deep, and a bond so tight We’ll face the world, in the morning light Verse 3: Every laugh, every tear, we’ve shared through the years In your love, I find no fears With every dream we chase, every hope we find My love for you, it’s one of a kind Chorus: My love for you, it’s a never-ending tale Through the highs and lows, it will never fail With every star in the sky, and the oceans so blue My love for you, forever true Outro: So here’s to us, my heart and soul With you, my love, I am whole With every beat, my love grows anew My love for you, forever true

A single star shines brighter than a thousand moons.

There are no clouds tonight, and the moon shines bright, watching me. I don’t mind. The moon can watch all it wants, but I don’t want anyone else to see me.

...His fancy foreign accent shattered her soul. Emeka sounded so genuine, and this struck Chioma lifeless. Her hair swayed and rustled in the air as her heart pounded its way out of her chest. The air tasted sweeter and her eyes glittered in matchless pleasure. Her lips flashed a winning smile... Emeka drew closer to Chioma, slowly and gracefully, panicking her a little. If Uche caught them, it wouldn’t end well. Her face was starting to flush as his came quite closer to hers, not having the slightest clue what he was about to do... His face wore a self-satisfied smirk, and she flustered. She had no idea what to say or what to do... She subsequently fell into his arms and their eyes locked again as they stared hard into each other's smiling eyes, drawing not a single breath. She could remember them perfectly—they were black brown in color under the full moon that shined so bright. His eyes were so clear, too beautiful and just perfect, more like the blue ocean or the morning sun, or the twilight sky. His orbs danced and sparkled just like the stars twinkling above them...

He rose and standing in the dark he began to chant in a deep voice, while the echoes ran away into the roof. The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin’s Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes’ mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard. Unwearied then were Durin’s folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge’s fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep. ‘I

But the light of the European Enlightenment today shines so bright that it covers up much more than it reveals. It is like vision during the day and during the clear night; we can see many details of our earth very clearly by sunlight, which we would not see by the light of the stars or of the moon at night. But during that process of seeing by sunlight we give up the possibility of seeing the night sky with its galazies of stars, the other planets, and the moon. It is only as the daylight fades and the dusk begins to obscure much of the detail we see by day, that the night sky with all its grandeur and splendor comes into view. Our European Enlightenment is something like the daylight, which makes us see many things that we would not have seen without its help; but in that very process of opening up a detailed and clear vision of some things, the daylight, by its very brightness, eclipses the stunningly vast expanse of the billions of galaxies that lie around. It is too bright a light, this European Enlightenment and its critical rationality. If we lived all twenty four hours by sunlight we would miss out on most of reality, which "comes to light" only when the sunlight is dimmed, and when even the moon's reflection of the sunlight is not too forceful." -Paulos Mar Gregorios "A Light Too Bright; The Enlightenment Today

Look at the sun and think your future as bright as it is. Look at the moon and perceive how cool you can be in the darkest of night. Be positive as the sun and bright as the moon when the darkness of the world requires you to shine forth.

One bright star is better than a thousand dull moons.

They spent three more long days in the whitened mountain ash trees on the whitened bay. Tatiana baked pies in Nellie’s big kitchen. Alexander read all the papers and magazines from stem to stern and talked post-war politics to Tatiana and Jimmy, and even to indifferent Nellie. In Nellie’s potato fields, Alexander built snowmen for Anthony. After the pies were in the oven, Tatiana came out of the house and saw six snowmen arrayed like soldiers from big to little. She tutted, rolled her eyes and dragged Anthony away to fall down and make angels in the snow instead. They made thirty of them, all in a row, arrayed like soldiers. On the third night of winter, Anthony was in their bed restfully asleep, and they were wide awake. Alexander was rubbing her bare buttocks under her gown. The only window in their room was blizzarded over. She assumed the blue moon was shining beyond. His hands were becoming very insistent. Alexander moved one of the blankets onto the floor, silently; moved her onto the blanket, silently; laid her flat onto her stomach, silently, and made love to her in stealth like they were doughboys on the ground, crawling to the frontline, his belly to her back, keeping her in a straight line, completely covering her tiny frame with his body, clasping her wrists above her head with one hand. As he confined her, he was kissing her shoulders, and the back of her neck, and her jawline, and when she turned her face to him, he kissed her lips, his free hand roaming over her legs and ribs while he moved deep and slow! amazing enough by itself, but even more amazingly he turned her to him to finish, still restraining her arms above her head, and even made a brief noise not just a raw exhale at the feverish end...and then they lay still, under the blankets, and Tatiana started to cry underneath him, and he said shh, shh, come on, but didn’t instantly move off her, like usual. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered. “Of what?” “Of everything. Of you.” He said nothing. She said, “So you want to get the heck out of here?” “Oh, God. I thought you’d never ask.” “Where do you think you’re going?” Jimmy asked when he saw them packing up the next morning. “We’re leaving,” Alexander replied. “Well, you know what they say,” Jim said. “Man proposes and God disposes. The bridge over Deer Isle is iced over. Hasn’t been plowed in weeks and won’t be. Nowhere to go until the snow melts.” “And when do you think that might be?” “April,” Jimmy said, and both he and Nellie laughed. Jimmy hugged her with his one good arm and Nellie, gazing brightly at him, didn’t look as if she cared that he had just the one. Tatiana and Alexander glanced at each other. April! He said to Jim, “You know what, we’ll take our chances.” Tatiana started to speak up, started to say, “Maybe they’re right—” and Alexander fixed her with such a stare that she instantly shut up, ashamed of questioning him in front of other people, and hurried on with the packing. They said goodbye to a regretful Jimmy and Nellie, said goodbye to Stonington and took their Nomad Deluxe across Deer Isle onto the mainland. In this one instant, man disposed. The bridge had been kept clear by the snow crews on Deer Isle. Because if the bridge was iced over, no one could get any produce shipments to the people in Stonington. “What a country,” said Alexander, as he drove out onto the mainland and south.

passion. Like the moon, we borrow our light; bright as we are when grace shines on us, we are darkness itself when the Sun of Righteousness withdraws himself.

Like the moon, we borrow our light; bright as we are when grace shines on us, we are darkness itself when the Sun of Righteousness withdraws Himself. Therefore let us cry to God never to leave us. "Lord, take not thy Holy Spirit from us!

Like the moon, we borrow our light; bright as we are when grace shines on us, we are darkness itself when the Sun of Righteousness withdraws Himself. Therefore, let us cry to God to never leave us.

Beauty Of Night Closing of day brings beauty of night High in the sky a moon shines bright Restless winds blow tree leaves around Making shadows across the ground. God's creations are hard to compare His beauty of night is so very rare He sends the darkness from above And watches over us with love Let God's love fill you with delight As you enjoy His beauty of night Feel His peace deep down inside And believe His love will ever abide. "I pray in the beauty of night you will be blessed by God

The Church is like the moon, which shines with borrowed light. When God shines upon the Church, then the Church herself shines by reflecting his light. The glory of Jehovah is her glory, if that be withdrawn, she is dark indeed; but when that shines into her, and through her, then her brightness is great indeed.

Tonight is a night of union for the stars and of scattering, scattering, since a bride is coming from the skies, consisting of a full moon. Venus cannot contain hereself for charming melodies, like the nightingale which becomes intoxicated with the rose in spring-time. See how the polestar is ogling Leo; behold what dust Pisces is stirring up drom the deep! Jupiter has galloped his steed against ancient Saturn, saying "Take back your youth and go, bring good tidings!" Mars' hand, which was full of blood from the handle of his sword, has become as life-giving as the sun, the exalted in works. Since Aquarius has come full of that water of life, the dry cluster of Virgo is raining pearls from him. The Pleiades full of goodness fears not Libra and being broken; how should Aries flee away in fright from its mother? When from the moon the arrow of a glance struck the heart of Sagittarius, he took to night-faring in passion for her, like Scorpio. On such a festival, go, sacrifice Taurus, else you are crooked of gait in the mud like Cancer. This sky is the astrolabe, and the reality is Love; whatever wesay of this, attend to the meaning. Shamsi-Tabriz, on that dawn when you shine, the dark night is transformed to bright day by your moonlike face.

I have a lady as dear to me As the westward wind and shining sea, As breath of spring to the verdant lea, As lover's songs and young children's glee. Swiftly I pace thro' the hours of light, Finding no joy in the sunshine bright, Waiting 'till moon and far stars are white, Awaiting the hours of silent night. Swiftly I fly from the day's alarms, Too sudden desires, false joys and harms, Swiftly I fly to my loved one's charms, Praying the clasp of her perfect arms. Her eyes are wonderful, dark and deep, Her raven tresses a midnight steep, But, ah, she is hard to hold and keep— My lovely lady, my lady Sleep! Leolyn Louise Everett.

The moon smiles on us today, our wedding day. It's light shines bright because our love is stronger than forever and our hearts beat us one. I promise to be faithful this day and all those to come. I will remain at your side in the joys and sorrows, sickness and health. I will always be there for you, to protect you, comfort you, honor and cherish you now and forevermore.

The bright moon shines down to highlight her angel wings and halo that are still intact. It’s as if she’s actually descended from above. The kind of sight that makes you want to believe in something greater than yourself.

And if the moon could talk I wonder if he would tell the night Just how lovely she is With all those stars shining bright

but alas, i fear this will never be the case, as people smile to my face, and stab me in the back with a warm embrace, only to leave this bitter taste. mr. moon. the moon shines bright, at night. he shows his mighty might, his light. he hides during the day, they say. the sun wants to come out to play, she may. he is the protector of the weak, at his peak. in times of need they will always seek,

The cathedral towered over it all, benignly great in this quiet weather, the sound of the bells falling gently from the height of the Rollo tower. At evening, when dusk fell, men looked up and saw light shining from the windows of the choir and heard music, for the choristers were practicing for the carol service. Michael seemed dreaming. So many Christmases had gone since he had stood here looking out to the edge of the world, looking down at the city, looking up to heaven. So many Christmas Eves he had stood waiting through hours of snow and storm, of wind and rain or of rapt stillness bright with moon and stars, waiting for the mid-course of the night when he should lift his fist and strike out on the great bell the hour of man's redemption.

Sun and Moon You are the sun and the moon and the sky-bright bay to me. You are the crevices of black oak and scarred shine of white birch. You know cobbled roads and deer paths and the taste of wild ginger. You are all I know and all I forget in the shadow of day and the arc of night.

Although the moon appears alone in the sky, it shines brightly enough to light up the darkest of nights and guide us on our way.

I am beautiful. Like the sky in the morning, like the birds in the garden, like the moon shining bright at night and like the sweet cuddles after a fight. If you can see the depth of the soul you will know, i am beautiful with my folds, scars and moulds. I am beautiful like a story that's untold and like water that's hard to hold.

I Will Always Love You Lovely words from a loving Mother When the sun does not shine And the noon becomes dull When the moon goes too soon And daylight fades on the horizon Be rest assured, I will always love you When you see my flaws Or feel like not loving me anymore When you begin to wonder If I am the Mother you expected me to be You must know that I will always love you When I cannot sing you a song In case you hear the cracks in my voice When the journey seems long Perhaps I am no more and you feel all alone Remember that I will always love you You are a star that makes my night so bright The one who lifts me high A great blessing in my life I am very proud to call you my child That is why I will always love you With the whole of my being And all that is within From the hair on my head To the heels of my feet I will always love you

Always There For Me Ode to my beloved Mother When there is no sunshine And stars do not shine in the night When the moon is not so bright And there seems to be no light You are always there for me When darkness is here And my pillow becomes a pool of tears When I am surrounded by fear And I need you near You are always there for me When the seas are rough on my side And I swim against the tide When I run out of time And I struggle in life You are always there for me When I am soaked in the rain And cloaked by pain When sadness puts me under strain And my joy goes down the drain You are always there for me When my mornings find me mourning And middays appear cloudy When midnights are filled with groaning And my new dawn is being delayed You are always there for me When the road is long And I need strength to go on When my voice is gone And I cannot sing a song You are always there for me When my heart is weak And I feel so weary When there is no sign of victory And I sometimes worry You are always there for me

Eärendil was a mariner that tarried in Arvernien; he built a boat of timber felled in Nimbrethil to journey in; her sails he wove of silver fair, of silver were her lanterns made, her prow was fashioned like a swan, and light upon her banners laid. In panoply of ancient kings, in chainéd rings he armoured him; his shining shield was scored with runes to ward all wounds and harm from him; his bow was made of dragon-horn, his arrows shorn of ebony; of silver was his habergeon, his scabbard of chalcedony; his sword of steel was valiant, of adamant his helmet tall, an eagle-plume upon his crest, upon his breast an emerald. Beneath the Moon and under star he wandered far from northern strands, bewildered on enchanted ways beyond the days of mortal lands. From gnashing of the Narrow Ice where shadow lies on frozen hills, from nether heats and burning waste he turned in haste, and roving still on starless waters far astray at last he came to Night of Naught, and passed, and never sight he saw of shining shore nor light he sought. The winds of wrath came driving him, and blindly in the foam he fled from west to east and errandless, unheralded he homeward sped. There flying Elwing came to him, and flame was in the darkness lit; more bright than light of diamond the fire upon her carcanet. The Silmaril she bound on him and crowned him with the living light and dauntless then with burning brow he turned his prow; and in the night from Otherworld beyond the Sea there strong and free a storm arose, a wind of power in Tarmenel; by paths that seldom mortal goes his boat it bore with biting breath as might of death across the grey and long forsaken seas distressed; from east to west he passed away.

if things which are good in themselves as being the handiwork of a good Creator are called vanity, it is because they are compared with things which are better still. For example, compared with a lamp, a lantern is good for nothing; compared with a star, a lamp does not shine at all; the brightest star pales before the moon; put the moon beside the sun, and it no longer looks bright; compare the sun with Christ, and it is darkness. " I am that I am, " God says; [ Exodus 3: 14 ]

The bright moon still shines. The clear wind cannot blow it away.

To her, Alex was like the moon. Distant, cold, and lonesome, but he was breathtakingly beautiful and exuded a light that always warmed her heart. He was ever-changing and the light that he exuded changed all the time. Despite that, she managed to embrace all those sides of him no matter when he was shining brightly or when his light dimmed like the full moon turning to its waning crescent phase. But this time, she failed. When he lost all his warmth and light, she started to tremble in fear, like how people only appreciated the moon when it exuded beauty and light and shunned and ignore it when what it showed was its mere dark side. She felt like she had done that to him tonight-when the moon turned dark, she feared him.

Time, Light, Space, You and I! In the spaces unknown and very high, There where they say we all go when we die, I fled my Earthly shadows to hide in that space high, Where I did not obstruct light but I let it pass by. Through me into its vast arena of cosmic lights, Where there are no shadows because there are no egos and no fights, Where all that shines is not merely due to bright lights, Because in stars too I have seen some Divine delights. That shine through them in those starry nights, When the moon is silent, the sun is humble and the stars don't rumble, I have witnessed sights during those nights, Which even render the brightest sun humble. It is a journey beyond the realm of time, Where time controls nothing because it loses its infinity, Because there light dictates the values of time, Where light does not bend because it alters its proclivity. There, I have seen time bending in that discreet space, Where all laws of Earthly logic fail to compile anything, There time obeys just the factors of light and space, Where to a naked eye only hollowness spreads giving rise to nothing. In actuality it is there time changes its character, Because light assumes a new form, And when new logics takeover and change the cosmic character, Only then I am able to see a universe governed by laws so uniform. I wish to take you on these secret journeys with me, Irma and I, and I shall show you how reality bends in that dimension, But only if you are willing to allow me, To let me love you even in that highest and exalted mansion, Where light behaves differently because time too bends, I will take you there to steal a moment from time that never ends, But it shall be upto you to choose what you wish to see when time bends, Because time and light do not embark on leisurely errands. So hold my hand when we reach that height, And do not panic when you witness newer cosmic lights, Manufacturing time to be able to reach those infinite heights, To please Someone and to be the cause of those infinite cosmic delights. Stand beside me only if you are sure, Because to embark on a beautiful journey seeking eternity, Is not meant for those who are unsure, But for those who believe in the Divine sanity. Where light obstructs time but time never obstructs the light, Where I can not hide behind you nor you can hide behind me, Because there everything that is bright is not light, So stay with me my love and what a wonderful journey of love and wonder it shall be!

You Are My Spring Joy Where does life seek eternity? Not in daily struggles or toil, but in that endearing destiny, Where thoughts, pursuits, likings all merge to create a happy existence, Where happiness leaps from every act and every substance. Just like spring flowers that spread joy, To all alike: a woman, a man, a little girl and a young boy, They live for moments very brief, Yet they always manage to delight the heart immersed in grief. They last for a day or moments few, With a promise that next year they shall bloom anew, Leaving behind sweet memories and hopes profound, And even in a moment of existence they live in eternity that time’s snares can not confound. Similarly my love Irma, your smiles, your beauty nourish my existence, You, your love, your endless beauty are what I need for sustenance, My eternity lies in you, and only you, Eternity will be virtueless if it is not spent thinking about you and loving you. I seek thee with all my senses and my mind and heart, From me the reflections of your beauty never depart, And I lie wrapped in them day and night, Without the glimpse of your beautiful smile I cannot establish the brightness in any form of light. Perhaps someday the sun may not rise, And the Moon may not shine , to me it shall be no surprise, But for me living without loving you is not possible, As for the Moon to shine without the Sun is impossible. So let us be like the Sun and the moonshine, Where both exist to create the life giving sunshine and the romantic moonshine, Let you be the the daffodils, winter jasmine, iris, primrose ,and be merry and sing, And I will always be the unfailing Spring, just your Spring!

You Are My Spring Joy Where does life seek eternity? Not in daily struggles or toil, but in that endearing destiny, Where thoughts, pursuits, likings all merge to create a happy existence, Where happiness leaps from every act and every substance. Just like spring flowers that spread joy, To all alike: a woman, a man, a little girl and a young boy, They live for moments very brief, Yet they always manage to delight the heart immersed in grief. They last for a day or moments few, With a promise that next year they shall bloom anew, Leaving behind sweet memories and hopes profound, And even in a moment of existence they live in eternity that time’s snares can not confound. Similarly my love Irma, your smiles, your beauty nourish my existence, You, your love, your endless beauty are what I need for sustenance, My eternity lies in you, and only you, Eternity will be virtueless if it is not spent thinking about you and loving you. I seek thee with all my senses and my mind and heart, From me the reflections of your beauty never depart, And I lie wrapped in them day and night, Without the glimpse of your beautiful smile I cannot establish the brightness in any form of light. Perhaps someday the sun may not rise, And the Moon may not shine , to me it shall be no surprise, But for me living without loving you is not possible, As for the Moon to shine without the Sun is impossible. So let us be like the Sun and the moonshine, Where both exist to create the life giving sunshine and the romantic moonshine, You be a daffodil, winter jasmine, iris, primrose and be merry and always sing, And I promise, I will always be the unfailing Spring, just your Spring!

how can someone be so familiar? you never meet them before yet their gaze shines brightly in your subconscious

Let me love you! Let us tend to our life like a flower, Tender, beautiful, without any conflict, Let us fill our senses with this flower, And put an end to every emotional conflict, Let our feelings be like the sunflower, Always thinking of and staring at the Sun, Let us radiate with the beauty of the sunflower, And allow our love to be our everlasting Sun, Let my every feeling rush towards you, Like the waves rushing to the shore, Then let me sink into you, And no more shall I ever seek any other shore, Let me be the song of the Summer joys, The song of happy brooks, the tender fluttering of flowers, Let me lend you all these Summer joys, And in you create my gardens of love and beautiful flowers, Let me share all my secrets with you, Like the wind that shares hers with trees, flowers and everything, Let me feel every part of you, And like the wind, cover you, your shadows and everything, Let me be the Moon that shines every night, Mild, faint, subtle, light; yet bright enough, To let me see you everywhere even in the darkness of the night, And in the day under the Sun too, because seeing you forever is not enough, Let me be that every reason that makes you happy, Then glide gently across the territory of your mind and heart, Let me be this feeling that always makes you feel happy, And then my love Irma, l shall let my feelings be a part of your heart.

WHY IS TODAY SPECIAL IN HINDUISM? Today is the day (as per Hindu calendar) that Abhirami Bhattar prayed to Parashakti and manifest Amavasya (new moon day) as full moon day (Poornima) Subramaniya Iyer, who was then known as Abhirami Bhattar, was an ardent devotee of Devi Parashakti from the village that was famous for its Shiva temple, called Amritaghateswarar-Abirami Temple, Thirukkadaiyur. Once when the Maratha rule, king Serfoji I visited the Thirukkadavur temple on the day of the new moon (Amavasya). On noticing the peculiar behaviour of Subramaniya Iyer who was a temple priest, he inquired the other priests about the individual. One of them remarked that he was a madman while another rejected this categorization explaining to the king that Subramaniya Iyer was only an ardent devotee of Goddess Abhirami. Seeking to know the truth himself, Serfoji approached the priest and asked him what day of the month it was. Whether it was a full-moon day(Poornima) or a new-moon day(Amavasy). At that moment, Subramaniya Iyer was doing the Tithi Nithya Aaradhana in the SriChakra Navaavarana krama and was worshipping the Devi as Poornima Tithi. Subramaniya Iyer who could see nothing else but the shining luminant form of the Goddess before him answered that it was a full-moon day (Poornima) while it was in fact a new-moon day(Amavasya). The king rode off informing the former that he would have his head cut off if the moon did not appear on the sky in the night. A huge fire was lit and Subramaniya Iyer was erected on a platform supported by a hundred ropes. He sat upon the platform and prayed to the Goddess Abhirami to save him. The ropes were cut off, one after another in succession on completion of each verse of his prayer. These hymns form the Abhirami Anthadhi. On completion of the 79th hymn, the Goddess Abhirami manifested herself before him and threw her earring over the sky such that it shone with bright light upon the horizon. The area around the temple sparkled with bright light. Overcome with ecstasy, Subramaniya Iyer composed 21 more verses in praise of the Goddess. The king repented his mistake and immediately cancelled the punishment he had given to Subramaniya Iyer. He also bestowed upon the latter the title of Abirami Pattar or "priest of Goddess Abhirami". There are a hundred stanzas plus a காப்பு (Kāppu, protection) verse for lord Ganesha and a final பயன் (Payaṉ, outcome), thus a total of 102 stanzas that are included in Abhirami Anthadhi. The author praises Abhirami as his own mother, regrets his mistakes, speaks of the divine play of mother and father Paramashiva, and her simplicity & mercy. It is believed that recitation of each stanza will result in the specific achievement of the devotees. Here is one of the famous stanzas of Abhirami Anthadhi: " மணியே, மணியின் ஒளியே, ஒளிரும் அணி புனைந்த அணியே, அணியும் அணிக்கு அழகே, அணுகாதவர்க்குப் பிணியே, பிணிக்கு மருந்தே, அமரர் பெரு விருந்தே. பணியேன், ஒருவரை நின் பத்ம பாதம் பணிந்தபின்னே." - செய்யுள் 24 " Maṇiyē, maṇiyiṉ oḷiyē, oḷirum aṇi puṉainta aṇiyē, aṇiyum aṇikku aḻakē, aṇukātavarkkup piṇiyē, piṇikku maruntē, amarar peru viruntē.- Paṇiyēṉ, oruvarai niṉ patma pātam paṇintapiṉṉē." - stanza 24 Pearl like you are, You who are the reddish aura of the pearl! You are like the pearl studded chain who adds beauty to the chain, You are pain to those who do not fall at your feet while the panacea for pains of those who fall at your feet, the nectar of Gods, After worshipping at thine lotus feet, Will I bow before any other, Now and now after. The beauty of Abhirami Anthathi: காப்பு starts as ″தார் அமர் கொன்றையும்...″ and பயன் ends as ″... தீங்கு இல்லையே″ (தாயே)

THE SON SHINES BRIGHT THE MOON SHINES BRIGHT . SO WHY DO WE WEAR SUNGLASSES IN THE DAY AND USE FLASHGLIGHTS AT NIGHT. DO WE SEE THE RIGHT LIGHT ?

Like a star you shine bright, like the moon you throw light, make your own luminosity so strong that no one ever dulls your life...

Be the girl who dances in the rain Let your spirit out Be anything but plain Be the girl who shines at night Like a full moon Be bold and bright

Country Roads September 2, 2024 at 2:20 PM Country Roads Verse 1: Standin’ tall through the pain, When life turns out to be cruel, Though the road feels long, And the night feels cold, I know where I belong. Chorus: On the country roads, Where the stars shine bright, With the wind in my hair, And the moon as my light, I’ll keep movin’ on, With a song in my soul, 'Cause I know where I belong. Verse 2: Every step I take, Through the highs and the lows, With the strength of the mountains, And the river’s flow, I’ll find my way home. Chorus: On the country roads, Where the stars shine bright, With the wind in my hair, And the moon as my light, I’ll keep movin’ on, With a song in my soul, 'Cause I know where I belong. Bridge: When the world gets heavy, And the days feel long, I’ll remember my roots, And I’ll stay strong. Chorus: On the country roads, Where the stars shine bright, With the wind in my hair, And the moon as my light, I’ll keep movin’ on, With a song in my soul, 'Cause I know where I belong. Outro: Yes, I know where I belong, On the country roads, Where I feel strong.