I cannot imagine ever leaving this place.

Enough water is on the stove now, whispering to me, that I can make the last cup of tea for the night. It will be my 7th or so cup today. Not uncommon, especially on a day like this. I woke this morning to the rain, and it rained on and off all day. It is beautiful right now. I stare out my kitchen window and just wish I could somehow capture the heavens in words. It is a task far too great for any one person and even if it weren't, I don't deserve the privilege.

The best I can offer would compare to a child's sculpture of play dough next to David. I think it is late at night, but the birds sing otherwise. I can hear them calling to each other, sharp but relaxed chirps in the night. They are no louder than the pattering of the rain on the already moist ground, but I can hear them clearly. Their voices live here now, and have as long as the cedars have grown around this meadow. At first glance, the clouds seem silently hung in the sky, as if put in place to shadow the half moon. I pause, look again, and realize my own foolishness. The clouds do not hover above the earth. The clouds are permanent fixtures here and the sapphire velvet skies exist around them. The moon, too, is just as transient as the rest of the firmament.

I cannot imagine staying here forever.