Cinnamon

Someday I hope you find your place to get away to, a little home somewhere on a quiet lake in an endless summer. A chair is there on the porch, and you can just sit and sit forever and no one will ask "Why?" or "What are you doing next?" or "Did you hear about...?" Of course you didn't hear. All you hear are the loons calling to their mates across the lake as the sun sets. The stars come out and the insects, but they don't bite or fly too near. This is not that kind of place. You can just sit and sit.

The moonlight on another endless summer night dances on the water here, a white shimmer stretching right up to your wiggling toes. There is no need for shoes because the grass is soft and warm at night and thistles jump out of the way when you are about to step on them, unless you want to step on them just to remember how it feels. But for now you can just sit and sit.

From here the constellations are in reverse, you're seeing them from behind. It's like watching a play through the back curtain or developing a photo backwards. There is earth, the bright yellow speck straight in front of you, and there, just there, are those three stars in a row, blip-blip-blip, Orion's belt. Is it Orion's belt? You aren't sure, so you turn to ask him, "Is that...?" But of course he isn't there. This is your place, your one chair, your one set of wiggling toes. Alone to breathe and watch that little yellow earth weave through the stars and you can just sit and sit and sit.