Mostly, evenings consist of slow-moving fishermen in small boats. Here, where spiders weave webs and night bugs rasp, the ground along the shore is speckled with bits that repeatedly glow on and off throughout the night.
Neither of us knows what they are called or even if they are alive. It is simply enough to reckon they are ground stars -- a mirror to the firmament. This is yet another lifetime; each one brief and the opportunity to live another with you, with the sky above and below, is more than I have ever deserved or imagined.