Walking home from gaming, I catch flashes of white through the trees. I turn my head this way and that, never slowing my pace, as I try to glimpse the moon.
And then, just as the distant noise of traffic lulls momentarily, I step into a break in the park and see it, suspended mere millimetres over Salisbury Crags, a handsbreadth from Arthur's Seat, huge and numinous.
And this, this I think, is what it feels like to be alive. This is good.
I spend the rest of the walk home, of course, wording and re-wording, trying to find the correct way of phrasing my description to get across the emotion involved in the situation.
And that's pretty darn good too.
And then, just as the distant noise of traffic lulls momentarily, I step into a break in the park and see it, suspended mere millimetres over Salisbury Crags, a handsbreadth from Arthur's Seat, huge and numinous.
And this, this I think, is what it feels like to be alive. This is good.
I spend the rest of the walk home, of course, wording and re-wording, trying to find the correct way of phrasing my description to get across the emotion involved in the situation.
And that's pretty darn good too.