There's just something about the night-downy layers of grey and white, the moon in passing leaves shadows bright. Breathing slow in the window's glow-flakes of light, like falling snow. Whoops, I just wrote another poem there. But there's just this softness, this dreaminess, about the night. Half-awake, you rest in the drowsy silence, in a state of calm meditation. The whiteness that the moon leaves behind leaves even shadows soft and gray, rather than black. Nothing is black-there's only shades of gray. And yeah, I'm waxing poetic again. Here's the poem I wrote, before I start babbling again.