August evening. Low summer clouds diffuse a secret sunset. I’m out back with Murphy under a sky the color of zinfandel.

The rain that threatens all day still has not come and time has been distilled. The world shines and glows.

It’s a secret I want to keep to myself and I am thrilled nobody is around. Only muffled noises far away.

After the play, after the bowing, after the applause, the theatre empties out. They raise the houselights. I am the only straggler and I take the abandoned stage. The emptiness, the lights, the silence has altered the space. If all the world is a stage, this pretty stage right here, at least for right now, is all mine.

Well, mine and Murph’s.

SS