Early morning moonlight on frost-covered fields, no sound. The white of the digital screen by the window: outside, the stars are Christmas lights along the roof lines, flickering.
It’s like going back to the place where you grew up, everything’s smaller. I look at what I wrote this year and it’s still a part of me, but the words were bigger then. It’s a memory parallax, where time and distance change the shape of the past.
And so when we look at the stars we’re seeing a ghost of what they really were millions of light years away…the light we see is in the past.
The light leaves your eyes when the dream dies. Which is why it’s important to remember, to make believe.