i can see the night outside - the dull , grey cast from the light of a cloud-soaked moon on the wet , wet bark of a tall pine tree , chalking one side of the tree white against the black of night , as drops of silver rain slide down the branches and the trunk of the tree , riding the ridges of its rough bark , and as it rises and rises - this tree that pines - against the slope of the mountain , straight as an arrow , its grey-green branches and its green-green leaves explode against the storm-grey of the storm clouds like a roman candle , shearing the vision - thunder !