I remember when I was beautiful; as beautiful as a warm hayloft filled with night and silver moons, chuting stars, stirring hay. I remember the soft sounds of huffing and sighing, and the smell of sweet breath in our nostrils. I remember his great mooned back rising and falling, rising and falling, painted with the dappled pattern of the silver moonlight and great crossed rafters above. I remember when I was round, and open, and full. I remember when I was the moon Herself, smiling.