The first fire of winter.

The cloak of the night, adorned with stars, spreads across the cold and sleeping earth. The bright half moon is caught in the bone branches of the winter tree, stripped of its leaves by the wind's hand. A pathway of silver stretches over the sea, and tonight the sea sings loud as waves ride to the shore in sets of seven, crisp and turning and silver in the moon's brightness.
Outside the smell of the coal and the wood fire hang in the still air. Inside the house is warm and cosy. The first fire of the winter.
Tonight it is the other side of the moon that shines its silver light in the ink dark sky.