Sky

The field is vast, deserted

A breeze rustles through the grasses,

Then dies, and all is silent

Looking up,

Tiny pinpricks

Little dashes of white

Glimmer in a dark bowl of sky

Enveloped in a thick black blanket,

From beneath this cover they shine

Ever so slightly

Projecting their beams of light to earth

Where eager eyes stare up to catch them

And take them home as memory.