Nightlight

She stops in the middle of the dark, empty, street to listen. To a buzz – electric maybe, she doesn’t quite know. Flanked on all sides by telephone poles, she looks up, tracing the sound along the rubber-covered wires. She is framed in a square from above, a certain dream catcher, Cat’s Cradle, connect the dots from when she was younger, a four-corner constellation. She can’t quite make out the stars, though – that pinky-orange glow from the streetlamps outshines them. She sighs, and walks on home.