The gentle tickle of windbound hairs grazing my peach fuzzed ear. That first smell of warm honeysuckle when Spring comes to thaw winter’s tyranny. Golden hour through the leaves of a thousand creek-lined trees. The full body warmth of a hostile red wine takeover in the extremities on a disapproving and cold autumn evening. Little sparks that ignite as the universe rubs up against itself.
There is nothing more profound I have yet to say. But if the space around us is but one dark night, I’d argue that we do our part to provoke it.