The clock ticks at 9 pm. The Moon sits just on top of my room, staring, waiting. There's a circle of colours around her that visits all the colour spectrum. In the center, an intense bright light. Her reflection on my window seems to make it fade way into three smaller moons, each one of them with less light than the other. As the clouds go by, the colours seem to fade way. They were taken by the wind stream that runs on top of London, over the lights, over the airplanes. Far away, close to where the clouds disappear, I see red lights. Though they glow, stars these are not, just like they're sisters moving in the sky. Across my sight I see many things. A big building lies in front of me, at an enough distance away from me that I cannot see what happens behind each window but still distinguish them from each other. Further away, some of the iconic buldings of London stand. The trees, mysterious and kind, fill the spaces between the houses. Each day a different painting, each night a different song, and a flower on the bottom to remind of its colours.
All covered in light, all lightened by her.