Forget reindeer and give me a flock of geese crossing a silver moon.

From Alfred’s journal

A cold clear night, the first one this season with any bite in it, and the Halvorsens had already strung their roof with lights and put the plastic reindeer out on the lawn. The one in front has a bulb in its chest that makes it glow orange, which no deer has ever done. I sat on the gutter and watched it for a while out of politeness. Then a line of geese came over, low and loud and arguing, and crossed the moon one after another, and for about four seconds I could see every feathered edge of them against all that silver. Forget reindeer and give me a flock of geese crossing a silver moon. For years I thought I wanted the sky to hold still long enough to be looked at properly; that was wrong, it is the crossing that does it, the thing passing through the light and out the other side.