By morning, the air is below freezing, dustings of frost across the budding leaves. The cattle are out, little calves jumping around their mothers in the early hours. The creek is full of runoff from the mountains, such a brief moment of life before the scorched earth arrives. I wake early with the blinds up, reveling in disorientation. Begging for the earth to tilt on its axis and shake this jumble of bones back into some semblance of order. I sat on the plane, unrecognizable to myself, and yet no stranger to the feeling.
Late at night, I sit shivering on the lawn, returned yet again to ask for answers from the Universe. The moon so bright the stars daren't come out.
Except just next to the moon, where the light is brightest of all, where the sky still looks blue from illumination, one star shone, so bright it would not be silenced by any power around it. I stared at it until my lips were blue, asking what it meant by its steadfast lights.
The stars do not reveal their secrets. But they will give you the thread that you may begin to pull
yourself.
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