As I walk, I can feel myself shrinking. The mountains of snow are so high and the valeys of tire tracks on the road so deep, I feel almost comically smal. I watch my feet drown in the vast, cold whiteness. The tall bushes and the majestic trees seem to loom over me with their snow covert crowns. Beyond them, beyond the vault of crystal glass, is the milky way. The Leonid meteors are running along it like mustangs, bucking and rearing with joy and exitement, their burning hair only twinkeling faintley when viewed from this distance. My breath freeze in the midnight air and I wish I was out there with them. I wish to run far away with them to the Eagle nebula and the Galilean moons, but I'm too smal, my legs are far too short to ever run the milky way.