On Nights Like This

One of the things that Winter rarely affords is the ability to sit outside with a beer and forget about the state of one's life. I'm here in the moment. The temperature is perfect and with the exception of a steady hum of distant traffic or the rustling of tree branches in the breeze, it's quiet. 

I could use this time to ponder the state of my life, to reflect on these last few months, but instead I simply choose to be. Why ruin any of this with worry?

I don't remember most conversations I've had with my father, but I remember the general tone of them, thoughtful and appreciative. One of the things he would always remark about while sitting outside was how beautiful the trees would look silhouetted in the darkness-- inky outlines behind an intensely blue-black sky. A form without any texture.