Last Night I pulled a camp chair into the front walk, which winds its way to wooden steps climbing towards the front door. An imperceptible breeze moved the Alabama air from the south. Facing in that direction I maneuvered my body in my seat so the smoke would pass behind me. I looked into the night sky. Pin pricks of starlight showcased themselves to the east over the valley below, with its lights ushering a haze of of gray from below. To the right, right over Montgomery sat the moon, a brilliant gash in the night. It hung just beyond the bare limbs of the copse which stood in front of me and between us and our neighbors to the south. The surrounding mid-October coolness of the hometown’s evening can never be got over. The sounds of bugs not yet driven away by the chill, a frog and a dog barking incessantly but mercifully in the distance fight for prominence over the slight rumble of occasional cars driving east and west on Savoy. In the valley to the west, a train whistle sounds, it’s roar across the tracks in the shadow of the bluff sounds for a few moments then disappears into the distance. Looking over the roof of our home and the wood beams which stretch into the entry and over the kitchen and outside over the back deck, the stars grew in number. Flying among them, planes at various levels, glided to destinations unknown. Time was unknown.
And all of it had the distinct feel of being and blood-bought.