Depth of FieldThe house (my home) sits on a little ridge, a small sharp remnant of the forces of water that cut and shaped this land. The particular river that set to this particular land has long since moved on, smoothing away dirt and rock here and there on downward to lie today in the valley to the south. From my little ridge, I can look that way from the study out over the little spooned out valley to a sister ridge, some half of a mile away. The view is limited tonight by mist and fog.
The back porch looks down and to the west, over a little commercial corner with a busy gas station. The air is lit bright white by this place, throwing up a fountain of clean light that struggles against the murk. The intersection is busy with cars, head lights and tail lights contributing. Its cheerful down there, known: an island of the visible in all the darkness of the houses and the parkland.
To the south from the study, there is no such light, just a simple string of sodium lamps on poles climbing the hill to betray the rise of the road. When the cars come down, the headlights stab into free air, and when the cars go up, the tail lights fade into negligence. The street lamps themselves manage, but the ones in the distance are little more than smudges against the night.
It is difficult to be an astronomer here.
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.