The Procession

A Silver Laced Wyandotte rooster wearing a dark navy wool overcoat stands on a stone balustrade at dusk, head raised toward an indigo twilight sky where six faint points of light are arranged in a line across the horizon.

Late February, when the sky arranges itself

He had read that six planets were aligning tonight, each settling into its appointed position with the quiet confidence of a thing that knows where it belongs. The terrace light agreed. He straightened his collar.

28 February 2026