rhinosplode

Orange

The sky, she said. It’s so orange.

It’s sunset, I said. Sundown will be soon.
Yes, she said. How many stars?
Three, I said.
The last hour or so of waiting is always the hardest part. Waiting for the three stars. Waiting for the enforced rest to be over, for the officially mandated self-reflection to cease. Waiting to be able to attend to the flesh again, to nourish oneself physically. Waiting to resume one’s corporal life and to live as a member of this dirty world again until next year, when the sunset vigil begins anew.
She and I sat on side of the hill in the damp grass. The air was chill and the wind was picking up. The sky rumbled dully as a plane passed overhead. After a few seconds of scanning heavenward I saw its lights, blinking white against deep orange. I followed it as it disappeared in front of the sinking sun.
I leaned all the way back into her lap and stared upward. I wanted to see the sky grow dark, but of course that did not happen. You never can see time progress until you look away. Still, I held the cloud-marred sky in my gaze. I felt the grass she played with tickle my temples and ears. Everything was fine; everything was going to continue to be fine.
When sundown finally came, we stood up and brushed the grass and leaves and bugs off our jeans and walked back to the house. In silence In silence. In a moment of absolute quiet, absolute stillness, she kissed my forehead. We walked through the door and ate our dinner.