A chilly December Winter's night, sitting under the moon and stars. Comfy sofas and a tall chilled mint hookah. Butterflies, green, red, yellow, blue, on the wall - turning slowly as coals burn bright and crackle.
A lone guy with his guitar sings for us. Far from the streets, it's quiet. A little retreat. Hot creamy chicken soup and, for once, no work to go around.
Life is looking up. A perfect end to a hectic year. And if I can manage that trek at the turn of the year, I'll just sit and look at stars far from the city.
Peace seems just within grasp now.
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