Being in the Dark

Orion shines down over the pitch of the roof and the wind blows. There is no sound here save the movement and creak of trees, the breath of wind and the distant echo of cars. The sky is bright, but with stars not incandescent lights. My feet crunch on gravel and whisper through grass. The deer huff and puff at me as I cross the hillside as silently as my human feet will allow. The clock chimes downstairs and the moon hangs, glowing, in the sky, framed by trees. Locust trees sing here at night, and all is quiet.