Tonight is beautiful. The rain that has been plaguing us this Autumn, and the ever present clouds, have finally seemed to dissipate (though I hear they'll be right back tomorrow. Such is life in a rain forest. You'd think I would be used to this by now, given it's been twelve goddamn years) and the stars are out. And there are so many of them, it looks as if someone threw a handful of salt across the sky. It's one of those things that kind of takes your breath away, and also makes you feel very small and a little frightened.

I love it here. I love every little thing about this country, and this city, almost as much as I love my own home town. Some nights are prettier than others -- the closer you are to the heart of Vancouver, the harder the stars will be to see. That's just how it is in most cities. But if you have the tendency to wander, as I sometimes do, you'll find yourself in a little town an hour outside of the city where the houses aren't all identical, there are fruit trees in the yards, and it sounds as if the neighbourhood dogs are taking part in the Twilight Bark from 101 Dalmations. It isn't angry barking, or alarmed barking. It's occasional conversational barking. Something you don't find in the city, where everyone is crammed nose to elbow with each other, and if dogs bark the owners have a complaint filed against them.

Tonight is a quiet night. I've found a bench in a park nestled in the middle of suburbia, and I am content to try and count the stars and listen to the dogs sharing their secrets.