I looked up into the winter sky — rain is our snow here — and saw Vega, alone in the darkness like a tiny hole someone had pierced with a pin to let the light through a piece of black satin. I stared at it, then made out filaments of cloud portending the next storm, which was forecast for just a few hours hence. After this rain, I knew there would be other rain, other storms. A few hours later, after I had come home, Vega had disappeared behind a new bank of clouds. I had lost my friend in the night. She was gone. Later I heard the finger taps of the next front on our skylight. Rain led to rain. We found peace together, the hidden firmament, the weather, and me.