Waxing Happy

I had a boy take me on the back of a bicycle through the woods last night while I held my pants from being caught in the spokes and sang Patsy Cline. I sat on the back as he peddled through a perfectly set sun, leaving a lavender and blue sky for the trees to sleep under. The moon was a “waxing gibbous”, imperfect in its lopsided smile that helped, with the glow a city and 13 million people, to light the path. I think my skin sighed, and smiled.