It’s sad, but in the fall, when all you have is bare trees, you can see the highway from here. You can hear its soft buzz underlay with the sounds of the stream. The bubbling and gurgling smeared with the beeps and rushing of cars on wet pavement. I check my watch. Five forty five but there is still pink in the sky. I should probably stop trusting google weather for my approximate sunset times. The pink is fading and I can see the almost full moon, pale on the light blue. The grass is dewy and cold, muddy from the rain, but I don’t care. I just lay there anyway. Taking pictures of the sky with my mind.
There are just certain things you can’t capture from a camera lens. Like the moon. You can never capture the moon, at least not in its full beauty, never in its full capacity. The stars too. The first few that glimmer into existence out of the thin cotton candy sky. They seem so small in photos, so distant and uncaring. Cold, like the grass below my back. But in person, when the sky is dark and the world is silent, they are breath taking. They say so much more with their presents then humans could ever say in words.
Christina Panousos 17′ || Literary Staff