The inlet, slick black like marble, reflects the stars in its stillness.
Few lights betray this tender slip of land. The embers of my little cigar. The flash of headlights through distant woods. The blue flicker of tv next door, like a thunderstorm encapsulated within the boxy walls.
Across the way the great blue has roosted in a lofty pine. The stream, where the otters live, untiringly flows.
The big dipper nests perfectly, like a saucepan, over the silhouette of the forest. I have seen it – on end, upended, topsy turvy, around the globe. This world is a beautiful place. What a gift to have seen so much of it.
Oh Brooke, you left us much too soon. Do you watch this from above, and delight?
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