The streetlight across the way is buried in foliage. At night, it illuminates the leaves underneath and immediately around it. Little or no light reaches the street and sidewalk, but from an upstairs window I can see a patch of bright green, a little island in the darkness.
Tonight it's raining, one of those stand-alone late August rains that tells us the Pacific is stirring, thinking about waking up and blowing storms into the mouth of the Columbia and over the Coast Range. Water accumulates on top of the streetlight. A couple of times a minute, it drips: a bead of liquid brilliance falls through the leaves, through the light, into the dark below.
bright leaves overhead
long fall into the unknown
dark water below
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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