Auld Lang Syne

Another egg of eternity, tumbling on fire through the vastness of the void, collides with the ascending plane of a next heaven. There is one tremendous, infrastructure-rattling grumble like the thunder of a galaxy rousing its bones from the mire of primordia, and the phoenix of the future begins to unroll new infinite wings. In the world where things can be contained in boxes, or skulls, or hearts, a tiny pair of brown eyes opens on fresh, untrodden snow in the dawn. The minute hand continues to dance forward as if nothing ever happened other than this.