Someone Somewhere In Summertime

There's a ring around the moon tonight. Tiger moth dances past my head, midnight coming on and all the house asleep. A skirling chorus of katydids and rain in the air.

If you were here with me, we'd be standing in the backyard, both of us barefoot in the cool grass, with smoking cold whiskey-and-bitters at hand, staring down September and listening to the pulsing of the crickets and the faraway bray of the freight trains.

And we would look at the fat sturgeon moon, fishbelly white in a murky black creek of sky, and there would be kind of a shiver, sudden and swift, up both our spines, and we'd laugh for no particular reason.