Dead of night. I've always liked that phrase. For me, it conjures up a sense of tranquility, of being alone in utter silence, the only points of reference the gravity of dark earth and the ancient light of stars. I went out into the dead of night tonight and thought of the world falling through expanding space. I thought of the astonishing velocity of the whirl of matter, from the smallest particles to vast, distant galaxies. I noted how the speed of this constant movement was, by vastness or by minuteness, and by my consciousness' brief tick of time, reduced to a frozen moment of a dance. There is a point, or a moment, at which velocity and stillness are indistinguishable from one another; at which points and moments are indistinguishable from one another, I suppose. The best place, or time, to find one is in the dead of night. The air out there: Prehistoric and new.