Summer – Cool night time air, finally.  The wind picks up out of nowhere as I’m out for the last smoke. My dogs, ears flying,  are in the middle of the opaquely lit street with me but then  take off on their clandestine run around the block, free of the dreaded leash.  I look up at the dark sky: The Stars blink back. I think: The Stars are sacrosanct.

The Stars are speaking to me. Embedded in their deep cobalt, not so much leisurely as very specifically specific – looking down at me whispering ‘run wild girl deep pulsating swiftly to everywhere at once cuz we got your back’. I’m lifted up spinning wildly and happily. Just like when I was 11 and confirmed, quite surely this time, as compared to 7, 8 and 9 –  that there are pockets of bathwater warm and basement dark cool as you wade out into the unknown of the wide mother Ocean and that each safe area has it’s own special and titillating charm as you make it to the other side.