A short paragraph inspired by Robert Kroetsch

The sky never looks as crisp for me as it did this summer. The clouds has threaded a silver lining into one another, and kissed the edges of the moon as it pierced the night sky. The silence was humming, vibrating. But it was not an anxious or unsettling, merely the sound of the toll paid to the night sky. The coin to be paid for the moments that pass, not one perfect or flawed. Both nothing and unmeasurable. The night sky transforming itself by the second, the beauty of the moment forever leaning on the crutch of the constant flux.
These changes of the sky, being manipulated by nothing itself. Knowing the golden age can never be frozen, is part of the allure, the need. A sacred age, a secret moment, a secret wanting.