Wet, mild air gives way to the 15 billion light-year stare

On Monday the edge of the new moon sank in the evening sky like the golden torc of a dead Viking, diving in the sea; like a spark of red-hot iron hammer-struck from a wrought edge; like the retinal burn of a whirled brand in the night. Afterwards the pure starlight condensed to crystal ice on the glass and steel structures. New quilts' mettles tested; no mourning for their geese.