While there are so many things I can go the rest of my life without, tonight I cherish those I will miss. Standing outside, I am staring up at the moon, full and inviting, like nature's lamp lighting up the fields around my house with long shadows of trees making the landscape at once both mysterious and wonderful. I will miss stars, oh blessed beautiful stars, covering he night sky in a way you have never seen, like a dense blanket of worlds singing their chorus from above. Little blinking orbs reminding me that we live in an infinite universe constantly expanding and surrounding us from all angles with the possibility of being. I will miss nights like this where the winds blow like nature's caress across my skin, warm and alluring, begging me to stay outside all night and watch as the land rejoices creation. I almost expect to see little fairies dancing under the moonlight with crystal umbrellas giggling for me to join them in their merriment. The wind carries their laughs. It also carries the rustling of leaves from the enormous swaying boughs of the trees that dot the rolling hillside. I will miss the rustle of the leaves. Some nights here a thick fog rolls in from the mountain range behind the house. Thick white tendrils of it come over the peaks and cascade like probing fingertips down through the dense forest acres away. It sits at the base of the mountains, building like a witch's stew until finally the fog grows heavy enough to make its way up the hillside toward the house, like some long lost sleeping beast that suddenly needs to move. It is almost mystical and not the least bit frightening, though I often do try and picture an army of the undead marching under its cover into battle for some ancient war they've already lost, a myriad of skeleton hands clutching rusty swords. As they pass by the porch the warriors will undoubtedly tip their war torn helmets at me for creating them in the first place. I will miss nights like this in Vermont. I will cherish them forever.