We early risers often see the most amazing things, if only because of the accident of our wakefulness. In our house I sleep the least, often the last to bed and the first to rise, awake while everyone else dreams.
Hoping to make Ms. Carolyn, my lovely wife, a morning blaze in the fireplace earlier this week I noticed, as I stumbled to our dwindling woodpile, the sky above. A cold front had marched in overnight and scrubbed the air and there were more stars visible in the sky than I ever remember seeing here. Even though I was in shorts and t-shirt, freezing in the darkness, I stood for a long while looking up at the sky.
Our dogs Tag and Meg looked up at me, though not with any hint of puzzlement. I’m afraid they’ve become used to my odd behavior.
The sky above was crowded with stars: Orion looked like he had freckles. I felt, if only for that moment, as if I was looking through a telescope, for even the faintest stars were revealed. The Pleiades were having a well-attended party; beautiful Cassiopeia, reclining ‘round the North Star, seemed clothed in diamonds. The sight of the sky so filled, coupled with the cold air, took my breath away. I’d have been embarrassed had anyone seen me gaping skyward that morning, but I don’t think I’ll forget standing there, in the cold, or what I saw above.
We live in such a wonderful place – a place of true beauty. I often get used to these hills and often I am guilty of not noticing them. It’s easy to pass through, driving with your mind on hold, until everything seen through your car’s windows becomes a blur, a strange collage of unnoticed mists.
I know poets warn of noticing things too closely – I’m thinking it would be easy to be overwhelmed by this place we’ve made our home – but I’d dare you, Gentle Reader, to notice, if only for a moment this week, the gift we share here. Not a bad spot right here, as Pearl Bailey would sing. Not bad at all.
Chasing the Wind 
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