By Neil Clark
When you were in space, you told me the thing you missed most about Earth was the morning dew.
I spent the next decade threading our garden with a thousand webs, tall and broad as the house. I became an expert in 3D light displays. Rigged them so they’d catch the droplets perfectly.
On your first night back, you were quiet, like you were worried your words hadn’t adjusted to gravity.
You slept for eighteen hours and when you woke up at dawn, you went to the middle of the lawn and wept about how you already missed the stars.
“I write to surprise myself.” – the author