A renewed moon gained celestial strength,
rising over tree tops, spreading silver lines
onto quiet night streets .
The town green possesses a dark silence
under the gray shadow of a heaven
pointing steeple.
The church bell signs its presence into
cool air as the sound reaches slate roofs
and clapboard homes.
The town lives under another moon for
another night. The seasons are changing;
cold is the fingerprint of winter.
Roger Singer 