But Not Tonight

The sky was already dark. The moon balanced like a skiff floating in the sea, glowing and looking like the disguarded thumbnail snip of a giant. Right below it, a huge solitary star winked and bobbed. A warmth fills the breeze signaling the beginning of the end. Somewhere, a farmer's field has cracked wide open in the sunlight and spit out the aroma of old cows. In the wind there is dankness, the unearthing of covered rot as the snow melts. In a separate blustering gust, unspoiled earth, fresh dirt breathing, the creeping Irish Moss crawls out. I haven't felt so alive in years.