The sky was dark, blindingly dark, without clouds,
without visible stars. There was nothing to suggest that there had ever been light. The wind was cold, a snapping wet towel against my skin, and it throttled the trees.
Then my mind said, “Find something good out there. Make nice words because it’s closer to dawn than it is to night.”
There were stars, shining their old, old light. The wind shook the branches vigorously and the leaves let go, as they should, as I should, under the blanket on this bland, uneventful night.