Sunday Nights

Under a canopy of night sky and green foliage I close my eyes, my fingertips touching the wet leaves as I walk my path home, the earth smelling of petricher.
How I love the quiescent beauty of Sunday nights when all the cars are alined in their place, construction sites deserted, restaurants with their lamps still lit in the windows as if waiting with tables set for phantom guests while all my neighbors are safe tucked in bed dreaming.
Bliss to be alone, amid this autumn scenery of fallen leaves and discarded paraphernalia traveling down the street, rustling in the wind. The city abandoned but for the sparking ghost trams, empty taxi cabs and paper carriers. I pause along the dark gated football field encircling an oasis of stars, looking up to the North Star, Big Dipper, Orion.
I remember in hospital opening my beginners guide to astronomy and tracing my fingers over the stars mapping the constellations in my mind, feeling the same light years of isolation like a lost astronaut in an alien world and wanting to go home but the dark endless space was so vast.

Its been a year long journey, I don't know yet what will become of me or if I will be cured but I am home again.