Sun descending in a sienna sky

The basketball court is slick with freshly-fallen rain, black nail polish hardened into enamel after spilling weeks ago lies on my desk, forgotten and right in front of my eyes, as I watch them play that game on my tiny screen, their feet sliding on the wet ground, the rain drenching them as they laugh and laugh and laugh, and I wonder how the game is so clear to them, so perfect, so impossibly fluid. They may be winning or losing--I wouldn't know--but they have something there, a spark of magic set against telephone poles and a blazing orange sunset. And 

I think of how, in the summers,

sometimes I feel magical,

like them, like how I see it,

the mechanics of working together as a team, trusting each other's moves,

and maybe if I understood the game I wouldn't think of it that way,

but I'm kind of glad I don't, 

so I let them feel magical, even as they

fall on their faces on the slippery ground, even as they miss a basket, or maybe two. I watch them, and I watch the trees, swaying behind them, evergreens braving a snowless December, and I watch the sun descending into a sienna sky, more beautiful than anything we deserve. When the game ends (I still don't know who won or lost), I decide I should clean the hardened nail polish off my desk

which is a good idea in theory

but I just don't feel up to it

so maybe I'll do it tomorrow, or the next day

or the day after that.

So I decide to close my eyes and just breathe,

a bright evening sky

penetrating the dark world around me.