Last night, I walked down a small bent street at the edge of my town. The moon was high above, soft and white. A group of children were playing, running around like monkeys. Their laughter echoed between the old buildings. Sometimes, I worry about violent things that happen in other places, but here, the night felt calm and safe.
My town is not big. There is an old mine on the hill, and sometimes I see miners coming home with tired smiles. We do not have many tall buildings or noisy traffic. On nights like this, when the moon is bright, and people talk softly in front of their homes, I feel lucky to live here.
