Huginn: She waxes great, the crescendo of the moon it is. It is odd to know that men count the crescent small, when it is clear that the decrescendo is the waning of it.

Muninn: I remember when the moon was smaller. She is getting larger by the day, chock-full of herself, gibbous and pregnant.

H: She will collide with the earth in time, this is the knowledge all have, and men begin to suspect it too.

M: It is the memory of a moonless night which shall sustain them in the days when there is no more night.

H: Too close for comfort, too dire to be true light.

M: It is all a lunatic endeavour, all of it and a midsummer night's dream too.

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home