Richael's Head Space

The moon was just a slip of a thing tonight.
The colour had drained out, clung to the very edge.
The stars poked through the dense black of the still night sky.
And there was no sound.
Like everything had been sucked out.
And it's night's like these that I miss the warm air that used to make sleep nearly impossible.
Those summer days, on the hammock
With Shadow running beneath me.
Its nights like this, I wish for the whirr of a fan to circulate the dense night air
The crickets song
The cold sheets, to cool sunburn.
And the heat of the day trapped beneath my skin.
I long for those moments of comfort and security,
That don't reside in this cold landscape.
These borrowed days know nothing of the magic of suburban summer.
Just the shape of fairy winds, gusts and gales, stormy seas crashing on my windows.
Perpetual winter lives on in the hearts of these people
They are cooled by the chance of hail, the threat of ice.
Rain is such an after though, such a regular occurrence
That it doesn't even warrant a mention most of the time
Even with the streetlights,
I could see the stars.
And on the edge of the city that never sleeps,
We found peaceful slumber on the foothills of the Appalachians.
Their secret safe with us, our dreams rising with them.