With Lake and Stars

The night sky slips

through me

like sunlight entering a leaf,

feeding it

and glowing through green

on the other side. 






Don’t you love the way that, as you stare at them, some of the stars seem to glitter in and out of existence as if they were alive.  And don’t you love the way that you feel so much more real when you have all those billions of pricks of light staring down at you between the expanses of purest black.  The stars flicker as if they were those people across the still lake turning flashlights on an off in a game of pretend communication.  You respond to the people across the lake with your own little flashlight winks and grin with pure delight in the childlike fun you take it little things like this.  And you wish that you could reply to those stars that blink in and out.  But your little flashlight and the big hallow feelings that tremble in your chest will never reach them.


You do not speak their language.


The lake does, though.  It reflects their glimmerings with even more winking in and out of darkness.  The two will talk on through the night.  But you, with your neck sore from craning, and your back cold and vaguely aching from the bumps in the rock you’ve been laying on, and your eyes slightly watery from staring so widely, will go to bed.  And as you drift off to sleep, you will hear the music of loons on the lake and you will see the stars behind your eyelids.

The End

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