Notes from under the night sky

Tonight the summer heat pressed against me. It’s touch was unwelcome, invasive, sucking the sweat from my skin. I broke free and stood on the balcony, marveling at the pinks in the sunset; the birds heading back to their nests. As the sky darkened, I slipped out of the house in bare feet and stole through the gate to the pool, hardly used, aside from by the old island man a few doors down, and me.

The water welcomed me in, washing the dusk off my body. Surrendering, I lay on my back as the moon glowed graceful and luminous. The bats swooped low and silent above my head and before my eyes, the stars began to wake. Valiant Orion with his smart belt. A satellite sailing across a sea of blackberry juice.

The darkness engulfed me. I could almost have been inside a cave, staring at glow worms, but the breeze brushed my cheeks and when I lifted my head, the sounds of the city, rambling trains, dishes clattering at the house next door, and somewhere, music, reminded me that I wasn’t cocooned, but rather, free. I filled my lungs with air and breathed in stars. That is how I learned to float. By stargazing.

‘Have faith. If the water doesn’t hold you up the stars will.’

The water whispered it’s secrets in my ears; carried me as though I had no burdens. The glitter-scattered canvas of night softened the edges of my spirit. Constellations glowed within me.

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