Edvard Munch - Night in St. Cloud (1890)
Grateful for the vast, deep night that stretches beyond space, and then folds back in on itself, like the jet black wings of a raven.
Exquisitely silent. Echoing the future, erasing the past. A whispered secret to the awakened one, a lullaby to the dreamer.
Oceanic night. Undulating within the shadows of the psyche, like some nameless Salome, barefoot in the ruins of a lost world. Blessed. Night.
-- Richard Power