A rising sun lights western mountaintops. I watch an autumn morning slowly brighten. A rising sun brings no stories. They seem to come later in the day. Experience takes time. Stories need time to ripen. After noon, darkening skies promise nothing, threatening rain, or maybe snow. Some days, when the raven talks to magpies, in that sullen silence of the hot summer afternoon, I think about her. But nightfalls, brings an icy moon, Whiter than white, night goddess.