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I left the safety behind the veil to roam the Earth, to look for signs.

I checked the gutters and the rivers, under trash barrel lids and in deep, dark holes. And after a time I found myself lost in the forests of Maine. It had been a while--a long while-- since I found myself in such open air. In the city, the lights and clouds form a sort of domed, frosted glass ceiling. Like living in a fingerprint smeared snow globe. I think there's comfort, there. Despite the size of the city and the many lives crowding it's streets, it provides a boundary, and a limitation, and the world seems finite.

In the forest I came across a dock, and the dock brought me into the black void of a silent, still pond. And when I thought I saw lights dancing under it's surface, I turned my head skyward, and my mouth fell wide, wide open.

When you're under a clear forest sky, under billion year old lights from distant galaxies, the gentle swirl of the vast milky way, the quiet voyage of hovering satellites... When there's nothing between you and the infinite universe but the boundaries of your own human limitations...

You are underneath.

Afterwards, they sent a new comic. It's about beer and possums.

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