I remember the cold, the shock of going from a warm room to the blistering cold. I remember the ice, the darkness, the snow, where the only things visible are the cabin in the distance and the moon, usually a bright, beautiful glowing orb. But tonight it’s not visible. It’s hidden behind clouds so thick I think I’ll never see the sky again. I walk softly taking baby steps so as not to slip on the ice, with my hands stuffed in my coat pockets. Hoooh. I see my breath, floating into the icy air, and I remember how Dad used to tell me about the freezing of water vapor, and Morgan and me pretending we were ladies smoking cigarettes. It was never a desirable thing to me, smoking cigarettes, but we used to find it so classic, so funny, while we stood on the porch shivering in our jammies.
The crunch of snow reaches my ear and I cock my head, only a little, so it looks like I’m looking forward, but really looking back. It’s a trick I learned from Baba, who always said spying was his favorite pass-time. Ryan is behind me, about a hundred meters and I keep up my pace looking forward again at Elizabeth and Emnet, giggling and sliding across the road. Everyone else has reached the cabin long before us, but we had stayed behind to bang on the piano, and pity our tired vocal chords.
“God,” I whisper softly. I doubt anyone is listening to me, but I whisper anyway. “I wish I could see the stars.”
For some reason, there’s a tugging on my heart. I stop quickly, forgetting the cold, forgetting that I have to get to dinner before the food is all gone. I turn around and tilt my head up, only a little bit, but just enough. And there’s a hole in the sky, or rather, a hole in those thick clouds that stretch for miles. Through those clouds, I spot the stars. Thousands of stars forming perfect shapes and tones, with deep gold and silver stretching miles and miles. It’s like a bell tolling in my head, ding, ding, ding, the beauty of those stars and how they're placed in the heavens just so. I remember my heart swelling, getting so big I thought it would pop out of my chest. At that moment the sky is an ocean, the inside of a pocket watch, infinite.
“Oh God, You’re beautiful.” It’s all I can say, and all I can do. Utter that same sentence over and over again, and think of how privileged I am to see that perfect hole in the sky filled with galaxies I’ll never visit, but He knows by name. That’s something funny about stars. Stars make you realize insignificance, but the insignificance makes you realize value. I was placed on this planet, amongst the billions of others, so small and insignificant, yet still known. Still loved. Thump, thump, thump. My heart hammers in my chest and I realize I should get moving again, though I don’t want to. Ryan’s almost caught up to me, and I want to cherish this moment alone, just me, God, and the infinite expanse of sky. I lick my lips. They’d gotten dry from singing for three hours, and I was thankful for the lingering taste of cherry Chapstick.
“You better hurry up, or something will eat you,” Ryan says, coming up from behind me, panting. Breathing always sounds so much harder in the cold.
“The bears are all hibernating, I’m not too worried.” I respond, my mind still blown by the beauty I just saw now imprinted on my brain.
“I heard howling earlier today,” is the response. He's trying to be scary, but he’s not.
“Bears don’t howl. At least not any bear I’ve ever heard.” He snickers and I’m happy to make him laugh because he works too hard. “Did you see the stars through the hole in the sky? It was absolutely beau…” my voice trails off as I turn my head to look, and the hole is gone. The clouds have closed up. I sigh deeply and dig my hands deeper into my pockets feeling a shiver go up my spine. I smile to myself, thinking of God’s majesty and how He put that hole in the sky. Just for me.
The crunch of snow reaches my ear and I cock my head, only a little, so it looks like I’m looking forward, but really looking back. It’s a trick I learned from Baba, who always said spying was his favorite pass-time. Ryan is behind me, about a hundred meters and I keep up my pace looking forward again at Elizabeth and Emnet, giggling and sliding across the road. Everyone else has reached the cabin long before us, but we had stayed behind to bang on the piano, and pity our tired vocal chords.
“God,” I whisper softly. I doubt anyone is listening to me, but I whisper anyway. “I wish I could see the stars.”
For some reason, there’s a tugging on my heart. I stop quickly, forgetting the cold, forgetting that I have to get to dinner before the food is all gone. I turn around and tilt my head up, only a little bit, but just enough. And there’s a hole in the sky, or rather, a hole in those thick clouds that stretch for miles. Through those clouds, I spot the stars. Thousands of stars forming perfect shapes and tones, with deep gold and silver stretching miles and miles. It’s like a bell tolling in my head, ding, ding, ding, the beauty of those stars and how they're placed in the heavens just so. I remember my heart swelling, getting so big I thought it would pop out of my chest. At that moment the sky is an ocean, the inside of a pocket watch, infinite.
“Oh God, You’re beautiful.” It’s all I can say, and all I can do. Utter that same sentence over and over again, and think of how privileged I am to see that perfect hole in the sky filled with galaxies I’ll never visit, but He knows by name. That’s something funny about stars. Stars make you realize insignificance, but the insignificance makes you realize value. I was placed on this planet, amongst the billions of others, so small and insignificant, yet still known. Still loved. Thump, thump, thump. My heart hammers in my chest and I realize I should get moving again, though I don’t want to. Ryan’s almost caught up to me, and I want to cherish this moment alone, just me, God, and the infinite expanse of sky. I lick my lips. They’d gotten dry from singing for three hours, and I was thankful for the lingering taste of cherry Chapstick.
“You better hurry up, or something will eat you,” Ryan says, coming up from behind me, panting. Breathing always sounds so much harder in the cold.
“The bears are all hibernating, I’m not too worried.” I respond, my mind still blown by the beauty I just saw now imprinted on my brain.
“I heard howling earlier today,” is the response. He's trying to be scary, but he’s not.
“Bears don’t howl. At least not any bear I’ve ever heard.” He snickers and I’m happy to make him laugh because he works too hard. “Did you see the stars through the hole in the sky? It was absolutely beau…” my voice trails off as I turn my head to look, and the hole is gone. The clouds have closed up. I sigh deeply and dig my hands deeper into my pockets feeling a shiver go up my spine. I smile to myself, thinking of God’s majesty and how He put that hole in the sky. Just for me.