On the wall facing my bed is a poster I got from the Scottish Poetry Library. It features a poem by Iain Crichton Smith called ‘Towards The Stars’. I glance at it every so often and just now I got to thinking about a night about a year ago. I spent the weekend in Northumberland, a part of the country I absolutely adore. We drove to Embleton late one January night. It was a cold, clear night and as we drove down the A1 the stars were bright and shimmering above us. I’ll never forget it. I live in the city and stars aren’t a common sight here. It was perfect, the sky bright and scattered with little lights. Never have I had a greater sense of how small and insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things. We pulled into Embleton and I stood by the car for a while, just looking up. It was cold and it was late or else I would have been there a lot longer. The rest of the weekend was cloudy and I didn’t see much the next few nights. Somehow it is better that way, even if it didn’t feel like that at the time.