Quinn Miller

Not So Far as the Stars

In the morning their conversation turns to dreams. She says she dreams of his home, though she's never been. And of the green and red trees and the people who climb the trees to keep the cutters from coming. In truth, the cutters don’t check so much if there’s a climber in the trees these days, but it’s hours too early to turn the talk somber so he sends a sleepy smile:). Says maybe soon the air will thicken up enough to get the lockdown lifted and she can see the trees awake. It’s a crude veil for a clumsy invitation, but in the bleary semiconscious of solitude, subtlety evades. He hopes he's played the game by the rules. He hopes she sees the invitation, but only if she’s looking for it. He hopes she’s looking for it.