I see the illuminated white steeple stabbing the night, lifting darkness on its point like a canopy. Yanking my gaze away from the window I glance a last time at the meeting house's spire drenched in spotlights.

Back to work.

I thought about bringing Lily with me to the office where I sit after 9 pm in darkness except for the little lamp over the computer keys. It's peaceful.

Lily stayed home and I think about where she would have chosen to curl up and snort out choppy breaths as she slept.

Visiting a friend the other day, he said, I saw Charlie, he works at ??? now and he said he gave you a dog.

True.

I just don't think he had known what to do for her, I told my friend. Lily was not in good shape when I went to pick her up.

Getting home and carrying a bag of dog treats up to the house, I stop to look at the night. Eyes running up a tree trunk to the branches obscuring clouds, I search for a clear patch of sky salted with stars. Clouds smudge out constellations in place forever, conjuring thoughts of hunters or bears or animals creeping across the night, tracing the same tracks without diminishing.

Rather than make sense of the stars, I wonder about the upturned faces of strangers years and years before, seeking to understand the sky's meaning. From within themselves come superstitions religions beliefs worries spells and omens, creating warriors eternally pinning up the night and made of nothing more than starlight and darkness.