It is night again. In this moment of peace stand in the garden and look up into the sky. What we once thought was the bowl of night is rich with wonder. The air is still. At first the sky seems to be the cloth of heaven pierced by cat claw to reveal the lights of heaven behind. Look closer. There are bright stars and pale and behind, above, around these a myriad of lights, a thousand billion could not number. The texture of the heavens is a wonder of the world.
Tonight again there is a stillness that hangs. Cold air bites at skin. Somewhere a snipe rises in dangerous dark flight, disturbed from sleep by the blood red fox. All around distant dogs bark. Somewhere someone whistles, to call a dog home to the hearthside.
From the sky a small star falls, an arc of light in an infinite tapestry.