Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree.
Antoine de Saint-ExupĂ©ry (1900 –1944), French writer and poet
Today was one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong and yet one of those muddles resulted in me enjoying this beautiful vista accompanied by an exquisite meal. As the crazy day passed, the night wrapped me in her silver linings. And now to sleep . . .
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