I fumbled with my camera in the near-darkness. The cold had numbed my fingers to the point that they could not quite tell if they were truly gripping something. Hastily, I changed the settings on the camera and pointed it towards the heavens once again as I tried to brand the spectacle before me in something more permanent than memory.

Sometimes you can feel the universe stirring, all of its whirring cogs, all its rhythmically pulsating, oscillating, revolving machinations aligning purposefully. It is not uncommon for the sun, the moon, and the earth to align, but that cold night, on that mountaintop, they aligned with not only my eyes, but with the lens of my camera, and as the magic was burned onto digital memory and retina alike, I knew that I, too, was part of that elegant machinery.
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