All of it, all of space and time and possibility, the future the past and the present, twinkling obligingly and singing its song of eternal, never-ending magic. Just up there, twinkling. All for me, in my sleeping bag on the warm sand, a little breeze crinkling my ground sheet, my shoes lined up next to my head. I’ll check those for scorpions in the morning.
« Older Stick Family Feud:... | Rik Mayall, English writer, co... Newer »
This thread has been archived and is closed to new comments
Buy a Shirt