The wind barely moves the stiff, bare branches of the mulberry tree, and its thin twigs stir little more. Their shadows cross the moon-swept brick of the porch, concealing small strips of pale mortar, leaving the unshaded portions an incomplete lattice which appears to waver slightly as the shadows inch back and forth. It reminds me of something I can't quite remember. Was it a dream image, or something I saw long ago? Something barely noticed and soon forgotten as I went about my daily tasks? I puzzle, as might a scholar examining some glyphic fragments left by a vanished civilization, but the mystery will not yield. All I sense is this alluring yet vaguely troubling resonance with something buried deep, some cellular pattern, some charge firing in my mind. I look skyward and see Jupiter, a bright pinpoint like an eye spark, now running well ahead of the laggard moon. The more distant stars wink as they burn themselves toward oblivion, but Jupiter's persistent reflection is unwavering, despite the tumultuous air. The pattern in my head flickers out, another question left unanswered. My foot scrapes mere brick as I turn and open the door and enter the house, its air still, its bought light dissolving both illusion and night's reality.