A warm night, balmy even. A dry wind blows the trees gently back and forth as they wave to the heavens. This night is alien. It’s early November and I’m sitting on the back stoop in only cargo shorts. This is a night worth celebrating, truly. The only sound is the autumn wind and the contended purr of Gray Girl in my lap. The rustling of the leaves are pages being turned in my book of life. Gray Girl stops her cleaning ritual suddenly and looks up as if she's heard something only cats can hear. She stands and bumps her head up under my chin affectionately.
The night sits over the land like a celestial drape. A watched sky reveals something sooner or later. A star falls from the heavens, burning itself out before it finishes the journey. The old ones tremble at this. It’s a sign of death coming. I just smiled and finished my wine. It’s all about the journey, ya’ll.