(C) 1995 Lynn NoelCreative Commons CC BY-NC-ND (Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs)
Music was still ringing in my ears as I stepped out under the stars.
Black, and frost, and midnight.
Just the wheel of the world going round over my head.
Black space, like rhythm.
The space between the notes.
The breath before the song.
Huge space, big as an indrawn breath.
The stars shape the space into stories.
Sword of Orion.
The dancing Bull.
Seven shining Sisters, snowflakes clustered as a chord.
Sickle Leo, curving mane into a crown.
Betelgeuse pulses wise as the wassail fire,
Burns bright as the Fool's wild heart.
The stories hang there in the stars.
Draw breath at midnight,
and feel them catch in midwinter's throat.