The Milky Way

147 words published on July 26th

On a whim we went to to the Washington woods. Three of us shaking in the cold, pulling our hands into flannel sleeves. Our laughter swirling in headlights. Desperate to get the tent up and get in and get warm.

Power off. Blind in November night. We held each others’ shoulders. We shuffled towards sanctuary.

First, we saw it in the trees. Bright but broken in shadows. We followed it, erupting up and out of pines, carving a canyon of light in the sky. Billions of strands streaming past atmospheres and asteroids to us. Alive. Each of us: suspended by silver celestial chords.

Sanctuary before sanctuary.

I haven’t seen it since. I’ve looked. Moonless nights in Warsaw, Missoula, Flagstaff, New York.

But I feel the tug sometimes. Sometimes sanctuary in the billions of threads between you and me. Microscopic but bright enough to carve out our atmosphere.