The constellations hide tonight.
The only light I can see is from dim porch  bulbs  from far off houses.  They've
been neglectfully left on  while their weary owners rest, and they flicker
relentlessly, threatening to leave me in the darkness.

It's just me and the pines tonight; their silhouettes towering like deities over
me.  A coyote wails in the distance, his cry carrying over miles. I lay back
onto the grass and mourn with him. Together,  we howl into the night, our
tormented wails evaporating into the charcoal sky.