After dinner, we went to the dock in hopes of a sunset. It is hours past now, and I still feel myself rocking on the water even though I’m in bed. The trees hid the sun, the clouds, the broad strokes of lilac and peach and gold, but we found catfish in the water though we’d been told and we’d all been certain there were none. The water is cloudy, and now we know why. They swam to the surface, their bodies articulate vertebrae. And the bullfrogs screaming, a chorus. Every now and then, one or another would chime in, throat full and deep and guttural, the sound metallic, and I joked about how we were all on the cusp of abduction. The rest of the group came later, black dog in tow. In the night, the black dog looked like absence. A moving shadow. The stars came out, one by one as the sky darkened and our eyes adjusted. More and more, and more and more. Littered. Like freckles. I saw one of the dippers and perhaps Leo. Vestigial light from lighting illuminated the sky. It was far enough that there was no thunder. I hope it rains tomorrow. I hope the clouds swell and burst. I hope it’s a downpour, and I hope it lasts all day. I am so grateful to be here. I am so grateful to be. I am so grateful for the life that I am living, and I am sick to my stomach at how often I forget.
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