The night falls in pink tones. Streams of pink-gold through the trees, the sound of a newscaster in the other room, a ticking clock. My blanket and the bell from the cat’s collar. Cherry blossoms weighting down the boughs. Moments of newfound silence like we live in the country now. Broad gaps in time, spaces between events. Faceless days. The news. Weeds, flowers, sunsets, the moon.