In the morning air, the moon could be seen a quarter empty, while a star served near to be her companion. It was summer, yet the air was like fall, still the flowers greeted me on my walk. The haze in the dome stood violet, facing the particles of orange, but I was not restrained from receiving a sense of the atmosphere. There was an overwhelming beauty, incomplete, awaiting eyes, ears, and a sense of its fragrance, or conversation that could confirm or compare how and what it was.
Thought could be of recollection, and then there was opportunity for nothing to occur except the beauty that would exist, only if I confirmed it. I paused on the sidewalk. Before, I watched my envelope get stuck in the slot of the box, and I recalled the words I had written. I could have taken it back, but there was no word unkind or gossip that ruined thoughts. I let it go. In the stand-still, I faced the sky. I thanked both the creator and its witness.
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