Clouds shifted across a pale yellow sky the night before. The orbs were heavy laden in the color of blood, in the color of dirt, in the color of passion or love. The planet of a long forgotten past and tragic scars of all our coming faults aligned to the sun with a line like strings through the center of this green-and-blue-for-now sphere.
Dusty rose-shaped candles and pillars blocked in solid hue lit the breaking through of a blood red moon. Obscurred by the shadow of earth, it was the first of four. It was the last of ours. It was a the marking of a shift.
Drum beats uneven on a drum held slightly sideways. Finger picking lessons and checking on the cloud cover and dinner late for late comers, but the rest of us are full. Leaving left the fully covered moon and the flickering wind-blown flame to light our way.
Back up the road, little scattered sentences we spread across the floor. Find a random disconnection, finish an unknown sentence, and see the end we’re both anticipating. Wait, wait, wait until the light breaks through a hole in the clouds — not just obscured by darker ones. A sliver of the shadow left, counting moments breaths and wondering if the passing clouds will angle away just right.
The shadow fully passed and the candles were blown out. And we slept late and woke, one of us at a time, to sun bright glaring through full white puffy clouds. Shifting clouds to return to grey cover by post-noon.
Writing towards the destruction of a handful of old friends, waiting for experiences of sap boiling on someone else’s stove. Waiting for the petrol chemicals to carry me and my deer back south for a night, for now.
The government gave us a bit of money. I think we’ll spend it complicating, over-simplifying, flying. And in another turn or so, find ourselves deep east.