I cross
my yard in the early morning air, pausing to wiggle my toes amidst sharp blades
of grass and grainy clumps of dirt. I look up—instinctively, reflexively—searching
or stories and magic twinkling against their dark backdrop, just barely out of
reach. Polaris shines brighter than them all: the night’s lighthouse, guiding people
home for eons.
The
moon shines down in spotlights, tracking me as I spin in the grass below. I
nearly slip from the dew on my makeshift dancefloor. Still, I spin faster,
until the stars are streaks of silver above. Faster, until the swirling air
feels like it could lift me off the ground. Faster, until I’m stumbling over my
giggles and laughter and can’t spin any longer.
I close
my eyes and imagine the big dipper tipping and showering me with stardust. I dance
with fragments of the universe until they fade in the glowing embers of the sun.
The warmth of dawn melts the cosmos to my skin, and I am one with the universe.
