Short term memories of early Wednesday morning

The full moon dances with high wispy clouds across the sky, giving soft illumination to the room. Open blinds make muted striped shadows slanting across the floor. A shape huddles in the drive. It moves smoothly across my line of sight, left to right. Not a dog. Too big for a bunny. It looks like a bobcat, more likely the elusive fox that stalks the neighborhood at night. The animal disappears into the darkness beside the porch.

I look at the faint numbers on the illuminated clock on the cable box. It is still some hours until daybreak.  It’s what Sinatra called the wee hours - that time between the living night and dawn. I stare in silence at the night sky. Light pollution blocks the stars; life in the suburbs.  Time rolls on. I doze in the chair. The moon moves lower towards the horizon, now doing an Astair solo in the darkness of the western sky.