here in the desert of the page I watch the rivers of ink crystallise into a coral of words that struggle to hold meaning beyond what is denoted by their formation.

How do I start to synthesize the base code of 'thank you' so that it is more than the sum of its parts. The expression of it alone is not enough to impart its distention.

In my desert I look to the skies in hopes of finding spitfires and stars that are splashed across the ceiling. Entities of combustion and greater meaning.

On the horizon a light explodes into life as a rocket fuel ignights, propelling a shuttle into the great unknown. Its vapour trail mapping its trajectory, all systems go. 'ground control are you receiving?'

Apollo 11 has launched and the race for space has begun. A relay of hopes and dreams that unites us into a commonality. With you now leading the charge into the undiscovered country. A myriad of stars awaits, resplendently gleaming.

An impossible astronaut, confidant to the heavens and the secrets they hold. Feeling above it all aloft and alone.

But not lonley because of the earth and its enormity. The source of all that came before and the world looking up as you look down. Spitfires underfoot and the stars still a ceiling and in the hearts and minds of your on lookers you are home.

In space there is no up or down, just being, exactly as you are, exactly as you see. As you fall further into the constellations, carving your name out amongst them, you are free.

And here in my desert of coral, I will continue to try and distill some perfect way of saying 'thank you'. Because everything that you are and have been is insurmountable for two simple words. And hope that this is more than they could ever hope to be.