In the Midwest, I think, we sense an oncoming storm. It’s easier to do this on the prairie. We have less to distract us from what things may come. We batten down our hatches, lock ourselves in, and wait to see what unfolds outside our living room windows. I think this is happening tonight. We’re waiting for the snow. Probably the last of the season. There are not many cars on Dodge Street tonight – the few of us that are, are getting home.
A spectacular three-quarter moon hangs low in the cloudless sky over the city tonight. I saw it while driving south on the western edge of town. The color of a wax bean, it looks like a coin being pushed out of a hole in a pocket. It seems heavy, not floating but falling, right out of that pocket-hole into the neighborhood below.
A plane flew right below it just now, its trail of exhaust highlighted by the lunar glow, underlining that moon like some cosmic pen. I’m waiting for snow under this clear night sky.