" And they began to talk—at first in their ordinary voices, but soon dropping into undertones because of the beauty, the immense, absorbed, hushed beauty of the night, with the moon, a day past its full, beginning to sail over the top of Burton Down behind them, and part the apple-leaves with silver fingers. And presently they didn't even talk, but Sat quite still, just as if for years they had been easy friends, and together they watched the great yew-tree on the other side of the little sleeping garden brushing its dark and solemn head across the stars, and listened to the cry of an owl, floating somewhere very far away towards them on the silence. "

― Elizabeth von Arnim , Father