Little lights

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.

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