A View From The Backyard

So many stars overhead. The cold evening air gives a focussed clarity to each speck of light and a little of the chill from space seems to trickle down to earth and settle this night. Thoughts reach up as if to grasp some meaning encoded there in the morse of light, a message perhaps left by a hand but there is only a silence on which the cosmos writes its usual chatter, the tortured cries from dying stars, groans from galaxies being torn apart, a catalog of death and doom and there caught on a web strung between two trees, the smothered screams from a half eaten moon.