Gravel

I stand upon the gravel, it is not immense but I can’t imagine counting each stone, each rock of support. A turn of foot, crunch step, crunch step, I am cavernous, connected to each. I am here.

Waiting. Blue ribbon beer in my cold hand. Winter is not to be messed with. Instead of the blanket of clouded warmth there is the pin prick light of sky, that ancient light competing with the nubile light of the city, the whites and yellows in the maze of concrete and shadow.

It must pulse on some scale. the lights seen over great distance and time. The lights of the planet, the heart beat of the world and I am here.

Waiting.

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