This Day of HeartsIt has been a good evening, an evening clean and clear. The air is winter, but gentle, and the stars leap from their field.
There is a way home from work on a road that drapes over a low hill with few houses, no street lights. In the summer, the road is crowned with leaves, a green tunnel. Every once in a long while a car goes by, setting out ahead of it a moving arc of white from the head lamps, bright against the dark background.
In the winter, on nights like these, a car can do similar. The illumination passes, bringing up for brief moments the bones of dogwood and birch, the scruff of the silver maples, the dark arms of the oaks and mulberries. When the car has passed and the shadows snap back into places, the view from the hill between empty trees is the lights of the valley, the soft lamps of our evenings.
In coffee shops, in markets: in homes.
Good Valentines.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Commentary accepted at pen@goob.com, although the traps are agressive and the pointy bits simply drip with dark liquour. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.