The sun is making its circuit low in the sky, its cool rays brushing against tree trunks and casting deep, blue-ash ribbons along the path. New snow. 6 to 8 inches built of a trillion pillowy flakes: those crystalline structures still intact, their patterned edges stealing the star from the sky and blanketing the earth with a trillion glorious suns. They flame the length of heavy laden branches, glow across fragrant pine needles. The corona of the forest. The solar nexus of winter. And suddenly, a trillion tiny suns flare. Confetti fills the sky. A trillion tiny stars pool and spin along my exhaled breath. A new galaxy. “Happy new year,” I whisper to it.