Some nights when the bright moon rides unseen above a dense cover of cloud, the entire sky glows with a light that seems as though it were being filtered through translucent stone. On such a night, the visible world might be a single vast room in some gigantic palace.The dark shapes of the forest trees rise above me, yet seem small in this room. I imagine that there might be echoes from the crack of twigs or the stirring of small creatures in the underbrush, but that they vanish in the immensity before they can be heard by human ears. Perhaps the cats would hear them, but, no; the clouds are not stone, they are dust and water, and sounds are lost in their softness. Yet dust may once have been stone, and perhaps what I hear in my imagination is the echo of forgotten footsteps in rooms lost long ago. Some nights make me wonder.