Straight as an arrow. Lie on the ground in a perfect line.

{A glittering cloak of snow too hard to refuse.}

Dear you,

Straight as an arrow. Lie on the ground in a perfect line. Look up at the night sky above. At the moon flanked by its stars that twinkle and flicker. Look up at that which stretches onward for as far as imaginable and know what it is to feel but a small part of something majestic and massive and all encompassing. But do so with a cloth between you and earth, for it is cold out of an evening and liable to make the thoughts in thaw run a little grand.

Yours musing on the universe and that which may or may not lie beyond, whist simultaneously trying to box-up my backyard inner-philosopher,
X