Nyx

Driving home, late. Past the pumpkin turning hour. Above, the moon, just past full, sets the snow clad hills to a great blanket of shining white. To my right, shimmering banners of emerald undulate. If it weren’t for the engine and the tires whizzing over broken pavement, if I could stand still beneath them, I imagine I could hear the celestial music they dance to. Ahead, Orion’s belt, undaunted by the luna light. Cassiopeia is on her couch. The Great Bear slumbers above the aurora. Wondrous sights to behold, a magical landscape. It’s hard to believe it’s night, there’s so much light in it.

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