Not a snow sky. More like a piece of white typing paper placed behind jagged branches. Vertical lines in random patterns, set decades ago.
Sometimes I sit out back in the dark
at the end of a depressing day,
and it’s quiet,
nothing but me and the quiet.
Sometimes I see stars shining up there, far past the trees.
I don’t see stars.
Just the tops of tall trees and past them nothing.
Nothing but gray skies.
Sometimes I look up and see a flicker.
Or I imagine a flicker.
Like a firefly?
It’s too soon, isn’t it?
I remember the 4th of july when fireflies lit up those trees
like some kind of magic.
Like the magic that’s only real in memories.
Sometimes sitting in the dark listening to the quiet makes me think.
photograph from may 23, 2020