can you hear the horses? 'cos here they come

i am exceedingly lucky to live in a place that is mostly free from major light pollution. it's even better when you drive for a few minutes down the road, heading southwest, or due east into the country side where the only light comes from barns spaced wildly and erratcially down the sideroads of the rocky land that has been eked out by generations of farmers.

on monday night, i found myself laughing at tales of misadventure while sitting in a sauna constructed out of an old hockey rink. there's a gargoyle on the pinnacle of the roof, who watches over you when the door gets cracked for bursts of fresh air in between the claustaphobic bursts of steam resulting from dipper-fulls of well water tossed on the woodstove's hot rocks.

when i stepped outside to trace the flagstones across the muddy lawn back to the house, my feet bare and my skin smelling faintly of sunlight bar soap, i had to stand for a while underneath the swath of stars. the steam from both my breath and my skin traced small patterns across the dark as i craned my neck, searching for cassiopeia, orion, the pleiades, and the north star.

sometimes i am taken aback by such small things.