Starry Eyed

I miss the stars. I miss the stars. I miss the stars.
O-ren and I in the backyard, staring at a sky that has faded in the wash. So few stars... a garish western borealis drowns them all. A third of the stars are deviating from the flight plan. Blink, blink, blink; they mock me.

But I can see my constellation, Cassiopeia. (I'm nothing like the original, thank you very much.) No, I identify with this constellation because it identifies with me - this single constellation is my entire name, nee. E M W And looking at my initials scrawled in the sky centers me.

The pines along the fence are surreal - they glow orange before shifting to magenta and then back to orange again while I watch them. The neighbors' light suddenly assaults me; the trees are back to green. The mood is broken; I preferred them orange.