Sun and stars

Clear skies.

Riding Broomstick into town wearing a short-sleeved tshirt.
Curled up on the front steps in the sunlight, reading.

Driving home from rehearsal, cresting the hill into Le Rivalard was as if plunging into the crowded stars.
I stopped and turned off the lights, and remembered Van Der Posts's description of the Kalahari desert sky where the hunting stars make a hissing sound. These stars are not hunting: they are majestically, aloofly still.