Office

There were the dark, wet, cold January mornings when I stumbled into the empty office before sunrise - clad in sheepskin and covered in snow. The computers stared at me through their black monitors as I caught the moment of silence. The phone rings and the daily routine begins before I have the opportunity to shake the snow off my sleeves.
The sun conquers the afternoon and expels the clouds, and the motes of dust are dancing in the beams of winter lights fifty inches above the office floor; they are the planets - one of them is Earth, my eye is Voyager 2, the room is the supercluster and the lamp on my desk is the area of Andromeda which is especially bright in this time of year. Somebody opens the door and starts talking but I am not listening, presently they are at least five Milky Ways tall and I am not fluent in galaxy language. In the street, beyond the observable universe it snows again. The planets and the stars in the room are smaller than the snowflakes outside. The awareness enters the room and embraces the furniture and my supercluster world is the smoke in the wind on the edge of a child's thought.