Art © 2024 Katharine A. Viola
At the observation deck of Skytree 22,
we sit waiting for hatsuhinode,
the first sunrise of the new year.
Beneath us, lush forest intertwines with
the buildings of our city, solar-powered
and dimmed to minimize light pollution.
Recent rainfall music has faded into
the soft breathing of trees. Above an old
hinoki cypress, a living cloud shimmers.
Moon moths! You flick open your log
to record the sighting. Your face glows,
reflecting the thermal brushstrokes
that cycle warmth through our winter kimono.
Every year, we see more nonhuman beings
return, more winged friends dancing in the air
of our community gardens planted
across the city, near every train station,
around the base of every Skytree.
I close my eyes, remembering wisteria,
summer peaches, golden osmanthus,
breath after fragrant breath of life we share.
You call my name, and I look up to see
the first rays of light flutter along
your kimono sleeves. You hold them out
to the sun like wings, ready to embrace
a new year of tending our home together.
© 2024 Lae Astra
© 2004–2025, The Future Fire: ISSN 1746-1839
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