“I think I’m starting to feel something”, Claire said, sitting up abruptly. Her friends didn’t respond because they were already gone, off riding the waves of a psilocybin induced trip. Claire felt the wind coil around her neck and shoulders, constricting the warmth from her skin. She pulled the faded flannel blanket out from under her, wrapping it around her, creating a cocoon of insulation against the elements. She looked up at the night sky, searching for a stationary object to fixate upon. Everything was moving though, undulating to a synchronized rhythm of swirls. She closed her eyes, but the movement continued behind the closed curtains of her eyelids. She felt a rumble of queasiness in her stomach, threatening to climb its way up and out of her throat. The bowed sliver of the moon began to pulse then—sending yellow and white ripples of color over the blackened backdrop of the sky. Only the slumberous town below, tucked in between the rolling hills, seemed immune to the movement happening above. Slowly, a single brick laid chimney, sputtered to life, tendrils of ash and smoke unfurling themselves into the atmosphere. The smoke found its way to the hillside where Claire was sitting, tickling the vibrissae lining her nose, and attaching itself to the fibers of her flannel blanket. The smell was laced with nostalgia for Claire, reminding her of many a summer spent camp side. She took a sip of water then, letting the algid liquid linger over her tongue, grounding her ever so slightly back into her body. No longer afraid, Claire laid down on the dew dripped grass and let herself go—off into the starry night.