Night Vision

The sliver of the moon resting over the hills of Ken Caryl, a pregnant woman in profile, her belly–hanging plump and low– aglow with the light of the city below and the stars above.

The big cat, a lion or cougar maybe, sprawled at attention on the edge of the grass, ears up, its body relaxed and tense, as if enjoying the coolness of the grass on its belly and smell of the lake on the breeze. It did not move as we approached and for a moment I paused as the shaped changed and it became a dog, a shepherd or a large collie, and then it turned again, this time into a rock, jagged on one end and pointed where its ears had risen up, so lean and sharp; its body a mottled gray, smooth and fat, but cracked near the base.

The milk of the northern sky, bright with haze, and the ladle of the Big Dipper vanishing into it, spooning up the northern suburbs.

The trees turned upside-down, their leaves buried in the crisping grass, their roots sticking up–a many-legged creature–spreading high and wide, pale and smooth and pointed on the ends, like the bones of pinkie fingers.

My dog, blissfully unaware of the tricks of the light and the season, guiding me through our own nighttime wonderland.