To Timothy

The stars greeted him. The crisp desert air gave a clear view of the night, as planes blinked by a sliver of moonlight. Four planes blinked, flying in an orderly row. First four, then five, and six. One by one, more blinking lights joined until the whole sky flickered in a wave from east to west, the stars going out and coming back ten or more times before Gary shut his eyes tight, took a deep inhale, and opened again.

Nothing but night. No stars. No planes. Darkness.