The forest grew darker and darker. Twice Rob fell, and once off to their right, something fell into a stagnant pool with a dull plop and both boys jumped. It was cooler now; the trees began to take on weird shapes and landmarks lost their identity as night made all things anonymous.
(from Sitka, by Louis L'Amour)
"All things anonymous." At night things tend to lose their identity, which is one reason that we are afraid at night.
1 comment:
and I do not like things that go plomp in the night!
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