The sky is nearly black. Along the ridge below, a pale orange light spreads, and above it the stars are finely scattered. The trees stand as black masses with only their shapes left, and no single leaf can be told apart. The air is cool, and no sound reaches the ear.
Looking at a scene like this, the neck tips back and the chin lifts a little. The eyes find nothing to focus on and drift far off, and in that moment the brow loosens on its own. The breath grows longer rather than shallower. The shoulders come down a little from the ears.
Through the day the mind kept trying to get something right. In the night sky there is nothing to get right. You do not know the names of the stars, and the scene is not spoiled even if you never count how many there are.
You might walk to the window, turn off the light and lift your head. It is fine if no stars are visible. What if you picked one patch of black sky and left it there until your eyes grew used to the dark, for about three long exhales.
The same step can be made at the sink late at night. While the sound of water running over the dishes keeps on, let your gaze drift toward the dark yard outside the window, and the hands move on their own while the eyes go loose and far. It is enough then to notice how the back of the neck is set, and whether the band running from below the ear down to the shoulder is stiff or has softened. Even if nothing changes, what was noticed stays as it was noticed.
The deeper the darkness, the clearer the remaining light becomes.
