Had I not been sitting on it, my ass would have frozen off tonight. The grass is crunchy. This is late in the year for the first frost, yet not late enough for me. Brrrr. The stars seem farther away on these cold December nights. I find it more difficult to think of them as vast fires. The idea itself of heat shrinks down like banked embers, shrouded in grey dust. Long after moonset, the light played over high clouds in the west. Their noctilucence was like shimmering ice. As lovely as the sight was, this was a night for withdrawing into the house, closing out the cold and listening to the rumble of heated air in the ducts.