The constellations are the same, the big dipper dips and the little one smiles back, but I can hardly see them. It is night, not too late, not too early. I am wearing a t-shirt and jeans and a really big borrowed sweatshirt to ward off the chilly night dew. We are sitting on blankets still a little sticky from last weeks roasted marshmellows and there are eight of us. There is a television sitting on the back of a pickup truck, facing us, and a 1990's remake of a 1950's favorite is playing. We watch it, but hardly. Well, maybe a little bit. We're distracted by the chill after such a warm day. We're distracted by the neighbor's dog who like sweet southern tea as much as we do. We're distracted by a lost earring. We're distracted by the world. The world distracts us.

I loook up and try to find all my favorite constellations, but here isn't home. At home I can see them all, here I can only find four or five. I am distracted by the lack as much as I am by the surplus.