A slim sliver of golden crescent Moon glows elegantly in the fading blue and orange sky, facing Antares. Most of her visage is hidden by shadow but still glimmers, pale, faintly visible. She makes a low arc and then sets with the sun, only an hour after appearing.
I am alone in a clearing. It is night now and tall pines sway overhead. Above them, the stars begin to appear. A cold wind blows cutting through my clothes and pinpricking my skin. I stand still, feeling the power of nature, the solitude of the night.
At this time of year, at this time of night, I can almost imagine the vibrations of movement from some other dimension.
Sweeping my gaze through the darkened trees, over stones, over shrubs, I wait to see if the spirits from this world or another will appear.
Then, a flickering of headlamps through the trees, like so many Will-O’-the-Wisps dancing out across the grass.