The sun was battling to hold its position tonight. It didn't want to succumb to a quarter moon or even to lighting streaks. Still the lighting bugs skipped in the air. They know they hold light underneath their wings. They want us to be envious of them. It isn't enough that they can fly.

The moon stood over the house near the end of the street. The image as if it was staged. The flowers in the yard props for a Hollywood production. I passed by to listen for the truth. I wasn't willing to fall for the Hallmark view. Maybe because my lawn too is dressed and the draperies match the paint.

I've stopped wondering about the other side. Stopped pretending I didn't care if I ever tasted pomegranates. I'm taking a que from my friends and using the light underneath my wings.