The trees waved their branches back and forth like they were trying to flag down help, and their leaves shook violently. We watched their panic in the moonlight from the back porch. When a cloud passed in front of the moon, the sky was silvery and dark blue, almost black – a dead face with a thick black beard, which was the woods behind our house.
You said something terrible was about to happen. And then you said something about ions, which I didn’t understand. But I knew it had something to do with the air’s sudden dryness and the static electricity. You always knew so much more about the world and the systems it ran on than I did.
Dogs pawing at a dozen living room windows on the block were barking in high-pitched distress. The strays, which had a much better head for undefined but pervasive danger, had already left the neighborhood. They’d probably gathered at the creek a quarter of a mile away. They went there, pressed their bodies low to the ground, and stayed quiet when they were under general threat, like when crashing lightning storms came in. The deer and foxes were gone, too.
The people, though, were a mystery. We went around to the front of our house and watched couples walking fast on the sidewalk to get their steps in. Others drank wine with their neighbors in driveways. Little half-globes of light, from smart watches and smartphones, illuminated each of these scenes. The retired cop across the street sat on a lawn chair looking at the sky through binoculars.
Darkness was pushing in, but they didn’t notice. Two worlds were coming together, but they weren’t combining. The one with the dead face was about to overwhelm and atomize the other.
I took your hand, brought it to my lips, and kissed your palm.
Birds of Bad Omen 