Leverage

The hollow sounds of fog return this time of year. Loud echoes of potato chip crunching tires on frozen snow. Disappearing into the city night as stars emerge from hiding in a black-blanketed sky. We move toward the cusp of country, body twitching with remembrances of anticipation. That first dark nighttime sky away from city lights, glimpsing the Milky Way Orchestra tuning its sound to the touch of our senses. Oh yes, there is a tingle in the air. The first tiny ting of triangle leading to such a crescendo of silence so loud you cannot hear with common ear. You hear it with your soul. You may see a frozen deer along the tree line staring or a fox half-halting with its searching ears; miniature gramophones scooping giant swathes of air for sound and hearing none. It is a silent swift of fog between the moon and earth that lends its leverage to the Universe. One verse for us all tonight.