Oasis

Winter: soft moon in a deeply inky sky: smooth lunula, glowing, exuding.

Slow mornings, grassy knolls, bathed in stark blackness.

Dreary headglows, headlamps, shining blurrily, red-orange, shrouding black forms.

I was wrapped in wonder of flying time riding mightily to ritualistic rites. Watching shapes whizz by windows in the darkness.

In each individual moment time moved so slowly, such so that I thought I'd never reach the parking lot without growing a flowing gray beard beforehand.

But past empty wastelands, when our little heads are looking at the sky time runs like a rabbit past and we see the dust it's left behind finding ourselves having jumped ahead, almost illegally.

Blurs between reflections was all my memory could present to me but I resolved to choose the moments of reflections wisely to stop in the desert and look around before I reached a foreign, unwanted oasis.