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Smell of tar as I lean against the telephone post, trying again and again to get a shot of that perfectly round ivory moon, huge on the horizon. I pause to take a shot of the lamppost, for old time’s sake. Its light spills yellowy-gold light on the pavement, still warm at my feet though it’s past ten at night. There’s no one out here. My shorts are cut-offs, still raggedy at the hem. My tank top is stretched from sleeping in it. And my hair hangs long and wet down my back from a shower. I sigh. More glowing orbs, scarcely defined set against a shadowy blue sky and the darkness of the branches. Fine, Moon, you win. I plead an inadequate camera and insufficient funds to buy a sufficient one. Your craters and frozen seas shall remain invisible. Time passed me by before I could capture you at hazy sunset. Time slipped away as I aired out the house, saw to the pets, and got mad over this and that as frayed nerves allowed. Skim across the sky, Moon, this girl is going to catch some dreams.