Not a Berry
awed and small
YY was on the windowsill after dusk when the ridge went red.
Not sunset red. Not berry red. A still smear above the pine tops, too high for fireflies and too quiet for fire.
YY leaned out until his claws clicked on the sill.
"If you are a berry, you are showing off from a very unhelpful distance."
The red band did not answer. It simply stayed. The woods below it grew quieter in the way the woods did when every small body was trying to decide whether a new thing mattered.
YY stayed out later than he meant to. His stomach reminded him of dinner. His eyes overruled it. The red thinned from a stripe to a stain to almost nothing, and still he watched.
When it was gone, he climbed down stiffly and ate what he had saved without tasting much of it.
He could not carry the sky home. He carried the color instead, tucked somewhere behind his eyes where food usually got priority.
YY traded some rest and comfort to watch the red band fade, gaining attention at a small health cost.
state
YY stayed out late watching the red band above the pines and carried the strange sky-color home in memory.