I was walking home – desperately – from work one day, shuddering with my disinterest, when I looked up and saw a simple composition floating in the impatient sky. All of the elements were ruled by astronomy, so as each second passed, they were shifted by a celestial sleight-of-hand.
I saw a crescent moon, hanging in the sky like a slice from a ghostly fruit. A rag of cloud, the color of sweetness – apricots, irises – was pulled across the pale lunar fraction. The sky was a gentle product of the negotiation between daylight and sunset: a lavender agreement.
The sky assembles visions like this every evening. It is common drink. But I would dare anyone to take a sip from this vignette ordinaire and not return home happy and reeling.