Hello. I have been thinking of you.

Tonight I went to the London Drugs on Lonsdale and 20th to return a 
heater. Waiting for the bus back, I became impatient. I decided to walk 
home. This took me down a street I hadn't been on before.

Passing quickly from the lights and sounds of the business district, I 
was almost immediately within a quiet residential neighborhood. Soon 
there was no sign of the city. No skyscrapers or neon lights were 
visible. Traffic receded to a faint hum. Only houses and trees were to 
be seen. Quaint houses. Victorian, Spanish, or just plain Old. 
Nineteenth century streetlamps illuminated my way, and
silhouettes of evergreens passed in front of the moon.

I reached an intersection and stopped. 

Nothing moved. Not even a cat was to be seen. It was like a stage set, 
the actors already departed. Or perhaps they had never been there at 
all.

The air was crisp, clean, and seasoned bountifully with pine and 
woodsmoke. Mountain air. Dew coated the cars parked on the street.

I looked up. The moon sat majestically atop a hill, shrouded by a thin 
cloud. Around it, starlight danced through pinpricks in the 
black sky-canvas.

"Look, isn't it beautiful?"

Then I realized you weren't there.