There aren't many stars, either. Half of them blink and move and ruin the perfect illusion of an untouched night sky—you would hate it. But I saw a constellation, aren't you proud? The Big Dipper, which I'm embarrassed to say I've never seen before. It had to be pointed out, but I saw it, and that's what counts.
The moon is bright tonight, so bright that I get sunspots when I look away. So bright that I can't seem to get it in focus, no matter how long I stare. Even though we're seeing the same moon, I can't imagine it looks like this wherever you are.
If you were here, you'd probably try to light a one-match campfire. It rained today, so you wouldn't be able to, but you'd try anyway, and I wouldn't laugh when it didn't work. Instead, I'd try to find a fire starter, which you would protest until it got too cold not to use it.
It's cold here at night, like I'm in the mountains. Are there mountains here? Is this a valley? If you'd come, you would have known. You would have known every tree and trail in a twenty mile radius, and if you didn't know, you would have asked.
I wonder how many of these planes are on their way to you. Not many, right? How many planes over the tip of Massachusetts on a Tuesday night are on their way to Philadelphia?
Curfew is soon. I have to go. I'll write again tomorrow, even though you won't get this for another week. I love you. Give Jane a hug for me. Remember to eat food that isn't Swedish Fish.