Sometimes in the simplest acts we are allowed  to let ourselves play with imagery. On this particular January night in 2019, I was walking with my dog after dark.  The night sky where I live is quite clear in Winter.  Light pollution is minimal as there are no big cities nearby.  When the moon is on the other side of the earth after sunset, one can easily see the constellations.  When leaning backwards looking up for the touchstone of sky shapes, the Big Dipper, I felt the curve in my back and the fluidity of the Navy blue firmament.  Then came the poem.  Click the button below to be taken to Through the Windshield, my podcast to hear me reading it.

Night Soup 

Walking in the night. 

I could not find the dipper. 

I leaned as far back as I could 

curving my body into a ladle. 

And I found myself 

scooping up the dark sky. 

bailing out a deep cup of midnight, 

Spooning the hard blue all over my head. 

I could not see the dipper, 

but she was pouring out her soup 

all over my shivering skin. 

January 30, 2019