High on our hillside at night, the lights of the town below glitter like dozens of sparkling stars. I sit outside my house and know that I could just raise a hand to pluck twinkling lights from the branches of the trees.
True stars, brilliant in the clear, country sky above, are not intimidated by my thoughts of paltry substitution. They have glistened for millions of years, and will for millions more. Humankind and streetlights, but a blink in their light years; a moment in universal time.
Flamingo Dancer's Blog 
not reading yet (as the vodka makes it difficult) just saying hello
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