Under the light of a full moon, I could see the old woman coming down to the well. The light from the orb of the moon over the mountain was so bright that you could have found a needle in the grass.
I watched from the tree as the old woman knelt before the well. Then she peeled off the old skin that covered her face. When that grey mask fell, her golden hair broke forth like sunbeams, her eyes shone as bright as the stars, and her cheeks bloomed soft and pink as apple blossoms.
But oh, she was so sad. She wept bitterly and her tears rolled to the ground. They shone in the grass like pearls. Pearls! I strained to get a better look. The bough cracked.
She leapt up like a doe who had just heard gunshot. Then she was gone.