Home is a rural place full of song.
The closest neighbors are oaks and pines that sing in tune with the wind.
The ground cover of chaparral dances in time with the trees.
At night the coyotes sing tenor and the owls sing bass. The bats provide a wispy percussion.
The loudest song, however, is silent.
Clear nights provide an unearthly umbrella of color leaking from a black canvas. The galaxy in which we exist drips its lights of fire onto our eyes and, if we are very, very still, we can hear them.
We can hear the reds and blues and whites.We can feel, as if it were sound, the pulsing of the energies that are sent in our direction. They are the remnants of explosions that no longer exist.
Words do not describe the awe, the majesty of those moments, late at night when you can hear…
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