A walk in the moonlight will do me good.
I shall understand inner turmoil in a new light, that proffered by the softly suffused illumination della bella luna. The black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon a meandering path by the gracious moon, will be my companion.
Treading my way slowly, reverentially, to the frosty view above that patiently awaits me, I stop dead at land's end. Full, round, and gleaming is beauty supernal: my exquisite, my lovely Moon. How I wish to touch her but am overwhelmed by giant sentinels whose barren arms stretch with desperate longing toward her. For all their height, those statuesque trees are no more able to caress her silvery face than I. The eternal, unrequited pining for what is enthroned on high.
I am seeking something, but it remains unnamed and unknown. Who will tell me who I am and where I am going? A thankless and lonely quest has it been all these years. The lunar queen has no spoken answer, perhaps, yet her presence comforts me as none other can.