The sky is a glowing ribbon under starless dark, the light so delicate I want to pluck it up from the treeline and coil it in my hand, watch it fold and sway, weave it through my knuckles. It is barely perceptible, but entirely magical, a balance mastered by celestial things—flickering far-off planets, wisps of cloud, the sun—and perhaps nothing else.
Thank you, Libby. I will surely experience my walks differently after reading your beautiful post.
Thank you also for the prompts.