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.