Watching Meteors in Jasper

The fire's down to embers. Good. You don't want light — you want dark. The kind of dark that doesn't exist in cities, the kind where the Milky Way isn't a metaphor, it's a road map sprawled across the entire sky.

Milky Oolong in the thermos. Creamy, buttery, smooth — it got its name honestly. Under the actual Milky Way it feels less like a coincidence and more like someone planned this. The steam rises and disappears into cold air that smells like pine and woodsmoke and nothing else.

Choconut Truffle for the one who wanted dessert but settled for a cup instead — chocolate and coconut, rich enough to count. Mint Chocolate for the one who didn't settle at all. Nutmeg grated into warm milk, the oldest sleep trick in the book, handed down from every grandmother who ever said "just try it."

Cinnamon in the cocoa. Classic All-Seasoning on the campfire potatoes earlier — the ones that tasted better than anything has a right to taste when it's cooked in foil on hot rocks.

The first meteor is always the one you almost miss. Then your eyes adjust. Then they don't stop.

Six products. One sky. The kind of night you'll lie about how cold it was and tell the truth about everything else.