blacker than black

Winter's short days always catch me off guard. It was only 5:30 and the last rays of the sun streamed through the blinds behind me, highlighting thin strips of my monitor in a kingly golden orange. Was the day over already? I stretched and rubbed my eyes, my body seeming to suddenly catch up with my mind's realization. A whole day spent here, singing in my head and passing the time, working and waiting. I spend a lot of time doing those things these days.

Pressing my hands against the almost icy glass, I leaned toward the outside, the 13-story plummet to the ground looming up behind the barrier of the window. One of the things I love about Texas is the spectacular sunsets. The north of the state is flat and flat and flat as far as you'd like, and 13 stories up you never miss the sun setting. Today a line of clouds caught and manipulated the dying light, rich orange rippling over the upside-down ocean of its underside, playing deep blue shadows and bright shocks of pink through the waves. I imagined I could see tiny ships sailing through, their sun fading steadily upward into the horizon to reveal the starry sky of Dallas city lights above. I thought of them steering by those stars, navigating to some unknown continent in the sky by the positions of the Reunion Tower and the clusters of outlying suburbs.

Before I knew it the sun was gone. I could hardly see the clouds at all, but by the absence of stars could tell the were still there. I wished the little upside-down ships and their crews safe passage through those dark waves and shut the office door behind me.