Star Lake

We didn't know how or why the sky opened on that fateful evening. It had been an ordinary summer Tuesday, catching tadpoles in the marsh. On any other day we might have turned home at dusk, but the cool air that arrived with the darkness swept gentle across our sunburned backs. As we stared up at the stars, the nebulae emerged, slowly at first, but then faster. We paddled the canoe down the river, drawn toward to the swirling galaxies that had inexplicably formed overhead. I had to avert my eyes; there was something sacred in the heavens, and I feared the openness, like I might be pulled upwards and never return to earth. It felt like a dream, but as I grazed my hand along the chilled surface of the water, the reflected stars rippled around my fingertips, and the sound of crickets, and the crisp smell of the fresh leaves along the riverbank, whispered to me that it was real.

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