The night tiptoed in early for November, and as the sun reluctantly descended behind the desert mountains, the leaves are falling randomly, resembling handfuls of confetti tossed from carefree hands at a June wedding. I’m watching from the balcony, the French post lamps lighting the event.

Footprints almost disappear in crushed dried leaves. A sign of life once there — now gone somewhere. The barely visible footprints seem to create a path, a direction… then they disappear completely. Should the wind blow, the way is distorted. The path removed.

The footprints to nowhere must mean something, otherwise why would they exist? They dissolve briefly between the terra cotta pavers, and break up into sporadic clusters, and then reappear underneath the mulberry tree.

And after that there is no sign of them. Nothing at all. Nothing to point to the destination. Not much to confirm the way.

But above is a massive orange and golden orb embellishing the black sky like a jewel on a king’s cloak. As it rises, it changes — but grows brighter. The higher it climbs — the clearer and longer the reflection on the water. It appears as a pathway…a gleaming reminder…there is always a purpose…a destination.

Even though the moon disappears from my view, the white rippling beam is close.

I look down…the stream of light is directly beneath me…right at my feet.

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