The Orange Comet

© By Drew A. Blanc - JKP

By the outer back passenger door Lucian was standing. Smoking menthol's, exhaling out billows of what seem like blue translucent smoke. She left mad and on foot. It was her auburn hair that first caught his attention. Then the smile. “What was I thinking,” he said out loud, softly to himself. Gazing upward, the panoramic unobstructed starry skies left him feeling microscopic and insignificant. Peripherally, to his right, blazing across his Northern canvass, an orange comet pierced the inauspicious night. Not heard, but seen and traced. Fleeting, as was her, with a glowing citrus pigmented appendage. Hating metaphors again.