(no subject)
laying on a pebbly shore under the clearest sky i've ever seen, staring at stars and the milky way and a faint glow on the far horizon that my friend says is the northern lights, the city line of saint ignace looking less than an hour's swim away (five miles in reality), listening to the decemberists and singing aloud the lyrics of nautical treachery and antiquarian misery while behind us stood the waterfront cannon of british landing, our bicycles leaning on either side of it.
playing marco polo on the dark walk back.
visiting the grassy, empty airfield for the first time and watching the upside-down rainbow bowl of the sky at dusk, a family of twenty bicycling by. dusk, husks, rural places. crickets and cicadas. nighttime strobe light off the side of the runway. mosquitos, mosquitos, mosquitos.
playing marco polo on the dark walk back.
visiting the grassy, empty airfield for the first time and watching the upside-down rainbow bowl of the sky at dusk, a family of twenty bicycling by. dusk, husks, rural places. crickets and cicadas. nighttime strobe light off the side of the runway. mosquitos, mosquitos, mosquitos.