I get a little poetic sometimes. The moonlight does that to me.
Southampton's barrage balloons floated gleaming in the moonlight like the ghosts of elephants and hippos.
The moon was coming slowly up over the hill in front of them. The countryside was bathed in light, pale and cold and silvery. Everything could be seen quite plainly, and Lotta and Jimmy thought it was just like daytime with the colours missing.
It is rather exciting to write by moonlight.