Home late, after work.
Crisp darkness ... the humidity has cleared.
The air feels and smells clean.
Crickets' loud racket.
As I walk to the stairs my eye is caught ... looking up ...
a magical pure moment in time
gazing at the pallet of the sky,
the arc of the dome
separating the sky from the void beyond
An excerpt from Under the Stars by Raymond A. Foss
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