I went outside to bring in the stones. The moon is very white again. It's so bright I can see colors: the dim periwinkle of my gloves, the red of the lawn mower, the green of the stones. The sky is a dusky blue instead of black, and most of the stars are gone. It is cold that everything crunches. The air crinkles in my nose when I breathe. My coat crackles. The ground beneath my feet is covered in frost, glittering and brilliant, ice tinkling with every step. The shadows the tree branches crisscross the ground with black. It is all very beautiful.