In the Night

Gerry’s away and I’m awakened by Maya. I sleep through disturbances most of the time but when I’m alone, I wake quickly and easily at my pup’s restlessness. The body knows when it is the one on duty, like when my children were babies and their slightest stirring would bring me immediately to wakefulness.

I tend to the dog and by then I’m wide awake. It’s too early, even for me, so I crawl back into bed. After a time I know it’s futile to try to sleep so I wrap a blanket around myself and go out to the deck. The night air is fresh and ever-so-slightly crisp. I look up at the sky.

A week ago we were out here stargazing with Makiya. A residual gift from our granddaughter’s visit is the sweet memory of sitting out here under blankets looking at the stars. Without that experience I wouldn’t have thought to come out here now.

Now, I look up at Ursa Major and a shooting star crosses the sky with a greeting. Hello! This is for you. And the solitude of the night is as precious as the companionship of last week.

I turn to the east and am awestruck. The stars are plenty and bright and magical. I ponder the Creator who set them there, the one who calls me beloved. It’s almost too much for this finite mind to comprehend.

I turn to the west where the lights of the city in the valley make the sky appear lighter overhead and imagine someone there stands on their back deck wrapped in a blanket. They won’t see the same splendour I behold from this darker place yet it’s still there. Sometimes we see dimly.

In the distance, I hear a siren. The peace of the night has been broken for someone somewhere in the valley and sometimes that happens too. Unexpected. And everything changes. This life is both beautiful and terrible.

I linger for a while in this luminal space then return to my bed to pray and to ponder and finally sleep comes.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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