Thousand: Three Hundred Sixteen

the soft light of the river of heaven stretched upon the gleaming grains of the stars. Slowly the fisher gnome’s scowl unknitted. This is really a good likeness of the night sky, he allowed. A streak of spark. Then another far off at the edge of the room near the door. Then a flurry. The fisher gnome smiled. A meteor shower to put me to sleep, sweet. And so he did. And dreamed of ravenous dogs gnawing on his knees. But that was toward morning. Mostly, he slept well. The garden gnome worked at his drafting table all night, redrawing