The beauty of the night, when the world is still. Ink covered fingers, blank page and quill. A writing muse awakens, with the rising of the moon. Words set in motion like a wild typhoon. Dark letters fall on white, a new vision created. The muse slept with the sun, inspiration waited. As the stars emerged, they shined their light. The writer felt at home with the beauty of the night. - EJ ©Emma-Jane Barlow, all words are my own.