Crop circles on fields that go on and on, concentric circles inside greater circles. One day going back far enough the blue stopped and there was no longer a word for it. It was all one swath of land and sky on which flowers and birds owned their peace. Then, you had no preference for either when asked what you wanted to come back as. Both were great options. Thousands of years forward far enough and you’ve forgotten that stretch of time. You buy compression socks and a travel pillow and lie down for a nap on a long haul flight to Tokyo. In the middle of the flight you catch a glimpse of the northern lights, it haunts with its beauty, reminds you that you haven’t lived quite like a flower has but you will die like it does and what a pity. A few hours ago the sky said soon, a few hours later it will say it again and one of these times you finally hear it.