The night is quiet, so quiet you could hear a moth fly. I walk to the end of the gravel road to the gate, looking for country deliveries dropped off in the night. The dog walks ten feet ahead, always protecting me against the nothings of the world. The land is dark, darker than you remembered it could be, and the sky is a tapestry of starlight. Someone must light them all, you wonder who. Wait for one to fall, but they remain steadfast in the firmament.
There is a truth to be found in that.
You do not yet know what it is.
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