        He boiled a pot of water over the fire, pouring most of it in his thermos with a few spoonfuls of Maxwell House instant.  Sufficiently prepared for the next morning, he poured the rest into a dirty enamel mug, tossed in a teabag, and leaned back in his chair, contemplating the heavens.  As he sipped his tea, he identified the constellations he knew, smiling as a satellite moved slowly overhead.  Hard to imagine that when he was born, there hadn’t been any up there.  When he had finally finished his tea, he banked the fire, and crawled into his tent.  In minutes, he was asleep.