A solitary figure on a vast expanse, oceanic dust motes suspended in an unseen breeze. Nebulae cascade across the twilight horizon, veiling a celestial aurora. Each step I take, soft and melting into the fine granules below, sends forth a whisper in this alien wilderness.
There's an odd reassurance to the sound of crunching beneath footfalls, even when the terms "foot" and "fall" seem grossly anthropocentric on this unyielding landscape.
Time is skewed here, just as the rhythm of the earth underfoot lurches like an unfamiliar tide. A new shore, a beyond, where stars hang closer than the trees of old.
I look back, where footprints carve a transient line, letters of some forgotten cosmic language. Each one like a decree whispered by deep space, perhaps waiting for an answer under the click and shimmer of a distant constellation.
Pondering these steps, I realize isle-hopping in space brings its own gravity.