October 30/365 Ancient Blessing

Orion sparkles at 3:30 a.m. above our tree line, the true harbinger of winter nights to come. I can see, even with tired eyes, the blur of the nebula decorating his sword. I scan the rest of the small crack of sky, and yes, the Pleiades are there, the fog of seven sisters. (Three were always enough; seven would require UN peacekeepers.) The Moon wanes in her last quarter, but sends a little light to help me watch the dog circle, circle, circle.

If our neighbor wakes and stumbles to his kitchen window, he will see our house ablaze with spotlights, and me, shivering in pajamas, on the shadowy hill begging a dog for speed. But he will miss the ancient sparks the sisters sent 442 years ago, falling on frosty ground, and the dazzling energies that marked the birth of stars in AD 674. I drown in ancient light.


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