The sky itself is shining, though the sun has already dashed behind the trees. It’s beautiful. I’ve been around here long enough to decide I have a favorite season, and there’s almost no competition against autumn. Spring and fall are the seasons that rely on changes in plants to advance their beauty, but I can’t enjoy that from here. The beauty in this putrid lot doesn’t come from the 37 trees visible from where I walk circles. Like most of the people surrounding me, they’re simply not happy being stuck here, jammed in between sidewalks, and trimmed away from the streets. It’s especially evident in the way the leaves change each season. In spring they hardly bud till it’s too late to grow gently, in the fall their leaves turn brown instead of golden and start to soften before they even fall off the branches.
The sky is what I wait for. Like the sweeping embrace of a long lost lover, she arrives in beautifully warm shades of flaming-orange, lightning-bug-yellow, murderous magenta, cotton candy pink, deep purples, vibrant blues, and golden hues. She dapples the clouds with shadows of freckles and the rosy swell of her cheeks. I could become lost, staring for hours, though minutes are all I have. Our love is constant but fleeting. The sky is free and that’s what I love about her so much. I might spend hours in my day just walking circles, waiting for the few minutes where the sun and the clouds and the curvature of the earth line up so perfectly to reveal the cosmic complexion of the sky. It’s the one thing in this stagnant lot that changes every second, every day, every season.
Soon though, she leaves, and so must I. If I could stay outside the entire day I would, but come 20:00 I have to go inside and toss myself through the nightly tasks. I can get it done in an hour and a half if I try hard enough, a year and many months of experience compounding onto each other so that each sweep of the broom and tug of the mop fall into a blurred pattern. All simply so I have more time to experience the crisp and painful joy of the chilly night air.
Now I’m done, and back outside I go. By this time, the fiery and flamboyant watercolor show in the sky has passed by and a static set of solitary sparks perforate the darkness from above. The stars fade in and out of vision as the cars on the road throw their light against my pupils, making the stellar display appear as though it were flickering high above as each star fades in and out of vision. Sometimes when it’s quiet enough I can let my pupils adjust till each star pierces my vision like a goddess’s spear. I love it.