The moon hangs low. There are bright spots in the sky that could be stars or just approaching airplanes. That single ice cube in my last drink has melted down to a sliver, and the cool air wraps around us. A backyard. The low chirp of cicadas. The sweet smell of burning wood and wet earth, and a certain hushed silence. All as foreign as a trip to Mars.
a pregnant moon
a pregnant moon
a pregnant moon
The moon hangs low. There are bright spots in the sky that could be stars or just approaching airplanes. That single ice cube in my last drink has melted down to a sliver, and the cool air wraps around us. A backyard. The low chirp of cicadas. The sweet smell of burning wood and wet earth, and a certain hushed silence. All as foreign as a trip to Mars.