cosmic narrative
“You can write a narrative for the stars in your sky,” she reminded me
It was never that I needed permission, but I did in fact start seeing the quiet hour I spend alone on Wednesday mornings differently, and noticed how the smell of my coffee reminded me of childhood weekends spent in the pop-up camper
In my narrative I am outside, at night, my feet touching earth. I am simultaneously with you, our toes in the ocean, and alone in a lush flower patch next to the creek, my hair dancing wildly. We smile, I smile
I am at home in my narrative, but I am at home here, too, in this quiet Wednesday morning hour. The stars forever an onward guide