"I wish you were here with me. Watching the stars move like this. It is quite amazing."
"I will close my eyes, Tell me what they look like....so that I can see them too." He whispers into my ear.
I'm laying on my back, My head is cocked to the left, so that I can keep the phone in place. My hands are busy skimming the cool grass that shoots up from beneath dark, rich soil.
It is soft. Almost as soft as the curls on your head. (They do not clutch my fingers though, as your hair is want to do.)
The blades of the grass tickle my palms. Which, in turn, make goosebumps erupt along my forearms. I can almost feel the earth alive beneath me....feel the creatures, worms and beetles alike, push and nudge against the raincoat I am wearing.
My eyes gaze up to the sky. It is black. Like ink that has spilled from an inkwell. It spreads and spreads until the night is thick with it...Until the only thing that peeks through is the clean white paper beneath.
The whites of the wizened eyes of a thousand fathers peeking down upon me.
Wondering, why I am laying beside you like this.
Why do only our heads touch, while our fingers feel the grass beneath us.
There are roads and pathways built inside of those stars, passageways for Gods and deities. They are a thickening of stars. A cluster. Packed so close together that they resemble highways and byways and exits.
The stars move.
They dance with a heartbeat that matches my own.
Watch them move.
ThumpThump. ThumpThump. In cadence with me.
ThumpBump ThumpBump. In cadence with you.
BumpBump Bumpbump. In synchronicity they move.
But not all.
Not all.
Some stare in awe of us. Of the trees and of the grass. The changes that come and pass and do not take a billion years to do so.
Jealous eyes.
Eyes that watch us live and die...then live again. All in one blink of them.
Now close your eyes. And listen as the stream comes alive, as if on cue.
As if it has been waiting, with baited breath for us to close of one sense, and tune into that one.
Close your eyes.
"I am." is whispered into my brain.
And I hear it.
Do you?
The thick cool water bouncing off of the rocks.
You can almost hear the chill of it. The zing of the water slapping itself. Trying to stave off the winter oppression. The frost that will come in the night.
You can hear the suction of the water as it bite off chunks from the bank of the river. Greedily trying to make headway there, only to be denied that pleasure. The river moves too fast, and it soon looses grip and slips and swirls beneath itself once again.
Hear the crickets sing to the moon. Grating with their legs and competing only with the hoot of a great own. The footstep of the mountain lion.
"I hear it"
Do you feel the wind as it slaps at your cheeks, pinking them. The air bites at your lips and causes them to chap.
Wind kisses, like hour kisses, make your mouth hurt.
The air tickles your eyelashes and moves through your curls. It whips my hair around us.
The earth steals our body heat, taking it deep inside and nestling it around the groundhogs and the ants.
We are cold. Chilled. Shivering.
"I feel it."
Now open your eyes and mash them all together.
The sight.
The sound.
The feel.
Look at the stars cutting across the galaxy...trying to find someplace to land.
Someplace hidden, where we can not watch.
They slide and fade and watch from over there. Only now they are invisible.
Do you see it?
"I do."
