Pigeon Mountain is a quick drive from my house. It’s not actually a mountain – that’s just the name. It’s a big hill though. I pass it on the way home some sometimes. Sometimes I’ll pass it at night if I’m coming home from a movie or something. And very occasionally – once every six months or so (more if I’m having a rough patch) – I’ll get the urge to go climb it at night.
At a brisk walk, it takes me about five minutes to get to the top – so no, it isn’t all that far, but it’s high enough. I don’t know if I imagine it or not, but it feels like I get less light pollution when I’m that far above the level of the street lights. The stars seem to stand out more. Pigeon Mountain is on a bit of a peninsula, so there’s pretty much constant sea winds. I wander up there in my jacket on a warm-ish night, and the wind fills my ears. I look up, and the night sky fills my vision.
I look up, and my mind fills the universe.
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