On a bend, I will see it, a piece of ground off to the side. I will know the feel of this place: the leaves stir slowly on the trees, dry air smells like dust, birds dart and the trails are made by beasts living free. The stars do not complain. They live, explode, die and send no messages of regret. Sometimes, as the darkness grows I can hear them, always a low hum but I never quite catch the melody.
