Moonlight night Painting

On a moonlit night, the cold gathers in a myriad of purple grains, crumbles in front of us, in front of a strange light. I was at a loss: what was the main thing at that time? Lighting? The moon itself, large, impartial, flew in the dark sky through the rare smoke of the clouds, through our presentiment. In my thoughts, the moon was a point from which the beginning was counted, it owned over all concepts, defined them, and there was some kind of reproach to me, mute, reproach in me, but such a force that I constantly did not forget such a time ... I wanted to guess about something, about unnaturally believable, as if I wanted to see myself from the outside ...