Under a winter sky


Dusk descends.  The deep blue of the night sky edges its way into darkness and evening begins to fall.  Stars mottle the nightscape and any heat the earth consumed during the day is slowly released back into that vast open space.  The long spindly finger of Old Man Winter begins to caress the world and the cold enters everything it touches. Trees snap and groan in their defiance of the stinging night air and animals have long since retired to the protection of their dens.

winter sunset

The smallest portion of exposed skin is ambushed by the cold and is threatened by the gnawing jaws of frost bite.  It hurts to breathe but the beauty of a cold winter night is unparalleled.  The sky seems anxious to introduce every star in the milky way without the intrusion of clouds and the silence is deafening.

This is my winter.  These are the nights that I am drawn into the cold for the sole purpose of watching the stars put the sun to bed for another night.  I tilt my head back to take in the constellations and wait for a shooting star.  This is life in my Northern town.  This is the pastel portrait that saturates my brain before I go to sleep.

Floating in a most peculiar way – fiction



As he neared the Eagle Nebula, he gasped at its beauty.  He always hoped he would see it in his lifetime.  As he got closer to it, his trajectory changed and he was able to view it from many sides.  His thoughts turned to home and, although each version was different, he mumbled audibly as he rewrote the letter in his head for what he hoped would be the last time.

“My Dearest Love,

I can only anticipate how worried you have been since you have not heard from me.  The mission to Mars went horribly wrong on so many levels and I fear I will never be able to get back to you.  I have not seen my crew nor am I able to communicate with Houston.

I am miraculously floating through space with no oxygen, yet I continue to live.  The noxious carbon dioxide that I expel with every breath seems to dissipate and is no longer toxic to me.  I have not consumed food or had water in what I fear is more time than I can calculate but I have no true concept of time in this vast constellation.  I have no waste to rid from my body and, against all odds, I still seem to exist.

The sky is beautiful.  I remember how you used to love to gaze at the stars, taking the time to point out the constellations in our own galaxy and you would always wonder what existed outside of the Milky Way.  I am here, love, and it is beyond anything you could have ever imagined.  It is color and music and poetry all connected by stars.  It feels like our wedding dance when everything and everyone seemed to disappear and the only thing I felt was your breath on my neck and the only sound was our hearts beating together.

But with all of this beauty comes so much despair because you are so far away.  I wish for this journey to end.  I wish my mortal self would cease to exist so you and I could be reunited.  I wish that I would not have to go through the pain of writing this letter yet again because I fear that I do know how many times it has been written and that number is too high to be accurate.

I will do my best to get home to you.

Until we meet again, my love.”




Written for the Grammar Ghoul Challenge – combining the photo above of the Eagle Nebula taken by the Hubble Telescope and the word Love (noun) – A person or thing that one loves.