of the universality of truth

Midnight. Me and the dog strolling in the garden of my father. A gospel shiver in the hedgerows. Stars glittering. A watermelon moon tangled in the topmost branches of the silver birch tree. Leaves strewn across the lawn like sea shells. The fiery coldness of Autumn becoming Winter. The hush of souls in the small town lit by orange street lamps. All of this. Rare as treasure. Right there. For anyone who wants it.