True Stars
A December night in 1987. School had finished for the year. We lay in our sleeping bags, under the stars. A satellite did something neither of us could explain.
True Stars
In December school had finished. The grass still green, but dying. Our fire had burned itself out. We lay in our sleeping bags, a whole forest behind us. Above us, true stars. Back when satellites were rare. Microbats sketched the darkness. Down the hill the drive-in screen glowed a love story into far off backyards and fences. A truck on the highway changing gears, gathering speed. And just as our silence settled, a satellite gathered speed and disappeared beyond anything we could understand. “Did you see that?” We never found a reason. Years later, I remember neither the answer nor the light. Only fading embers and looking up into the endless night with you.
There is something beautiful in the fact that the mystery itself fades, while the shared moment remains. In the end, it was never really about understanding what crossed the sky. It was about two people looking up together. Sometimes memory keeps the presence and lets the explanation disappear.
This is lovely, and it reminded me of the first time I saw the Milky Way on a camping trip in northern Michigan. It was magical, so thank you.