One Thousand Perseids

Saturday. Under a thick moonless sky, we lie together in the dark with a bottle of wine we decided to open anyway, watching the Perseids drift quietly across the night. The air carries warm golden resin from the nearby cedars that slowly deepens into something even softer — the faint, spicy-musky trace of skin that’s spent the day in the sun. And we murmur, the scent wraps around us, as if we never wanted this night to end.