Winter Moon

I love the moon's face at night in winter's cold. The sunlight is so far gone that its warmth is only a memory, thinned to silver strands by time and distance. Everything is halted, locked in freezing, white stillness. The moon in that endless dark shines bright with the sun's last promise, left as a gift of hope that hangs in that cold black sky like long shimmering strands of diamonds on a silver string. He sings over us as we lay sleeping under that light, of those gifts given by someone that loves us dearly.