Virgo 18. A woman playing the didgeridoo.
At dusk she sits in grasslands, her lungs awakening darkness in the hollow tube, while far to the south icebergs can hear her playing. She blows into a dark throat, her breath becoming shadow music. Birds and dust, and even stars remember the song. The twilight become lost for awhile, forgetting its way, pausing, waiting for the memory to return.