A poem I wrote recently:
Dear Mother Moon, guard the stars tonight.
Keep them in your field; don’t let them stray from sight.
We need them to shine on, to chase away our fears—
Dear Mother Moon, help them shine a million years.
I miss the stars. We went camping this year in the Black Hills, and, as much as I love that area, nothing beats the night sky in the Badlands or Colorado. I will forever remember the first time I saw the stars: we were staying with a friend in Colorado, and his cabin is on the side of a mountain with no one around for miles. He told us kids he wanted us to see the Milky Way, so he took us out onto the porch—and I remember being completely breathless. I couldn’t see the sky for all the stars. It was as though someone had taken a black canvas and spattered white paint all over it. It was like inverse music, but so much greater. It surrounded me and filled the whole sky, the whole world. How thankful I am for the stars!