The night is cool and pure. The wind drifts under your chin and over your shoulders like a lover's breath. The dark shrowd of the sky covers you like the wing of a mother bird. Sight knows no obstacles here. You can see in telescopic leaps- over hills, down gulls, and over ranges of perilous peaks. The lack of light focuses your senses. You perceive beyond perception. You sense of smell is impeccable, a coyote could not better challenge your organ's receptiveness to the slightest source of fragrance. You are nourished by the mere thought of a hearty meal. You can trace underground rivers through vibrations that rise like smoke through the sand, billowing between your toes like a sudden germination of daffodils. The stones you lean against and press into the dirt with your heel are your kin. You have a prosperous family. A generous family. The lizards that dwell beneath the stones are your wards, charges, and students- scaly scholars awaiting in supplication the mercy of bread and honey which come rolling from your fingertips. Your hands are raw from giving. The heart of a dead man, buried in a mining accident still beats, perceptible by the ears at a distance- a tattletale letter postmarked between the envelope of today and yesterday. Time is endless. Each grain of sand is a mountain. Every mountain is a sentry awaiting retirement. You have always been here. You are welcome to leave, but a morsel of this moment will stay with you until there is no more you to memorialize the beauty of that which can not be either fully grasped or denied. Only the night knows what you have taken with you, and what you leave behind.