hiking alone at night over frozen snow.  when i reach my destination (a place where the starlight makes the snow glow blue-white) i look up to see the star in a moonless sky.  i find it easily, burning much brighter than any other star. i see it oscillating up there and remember my history lesson.  it moves so little compared to the whole of the rotating sky.  but it does have a vertical path, a rounded glowing rectangle above the earth.  and i remember what history does.  it takes one thing and twists it into something else.  the same pale blue rectangle superimposed on itself, it turns as i remember how it became a cross.  as the horizontal bar clicks into place, and i recognize the impact of our earthly projections and persecutions, it dissolves and becomes an outline of a face.  the star burns impossibly bright with orange fire.  i stand there, looking up, bathed in the glow of the one-eyed god’s line of sight.

we’ve reached our new home. it’s perfect. my husband and i can hardly believe it.  it’s not enormous but still so much bigger than we had hoped.  the wood floors, frames, beams, and banisters are rich and warm.  the energy is so welcoming we keep looking at each other in disbelief and joy.  audra and gabe are visiting us and we are excited to give them the tour.  the lighting is dim, giving the wood a red glow late this winter night.  audra is wearing a black dress showing off her pregnant belly.  we are going to show them the deck from our bedroom but it requires going up a few steps and she is tired.  there is a guest bed that we hadn’t expected in there.  of course they will have their own guest room.  but she is exhausted and so it’s convenient for her to just sit on top of the quilt and put her feet up for a bit.  gabe leans over her, murmuring comfort and concern.  i lean against my husband, holding his arm over my shoulder and chest, wondering how much love can fit one room.  wondering how it is that we got so lucky.  emanating gratitude.