Night and day


I remember stars.


The sun blazed in my childhood sky, began its work at dawn and moved through the field of blue, scattering its seed. In the deep black soil of night, those seeds burst forth with light.


I ran through summer nights, shoes forgotten, countless blades of grass beneath my feet, countless blooms of light above my head, believing they would always be there.


Like the sun, I moved away from my own dawn and lullabies, but on summer nights, lying in the cool grass, I wondered at the stars, up above the world, so bright.



Now I wonder if the stars are birds that fly across the sky, following the behemoth sun, who lurches through the day, clothed in blinding brass, pushing aside the hours in search of something long forgotten.


My night sky is almost empty now, the birds captured, caged in jars that line the roads I travel, hung on poles to light my way. Once they soared across the arch of night; I marked the seasons of their flight.


My old eyes, even in the dark of night, see what’s right before me, plain as day. I wonder if the sun is lonely, looking for the lights on the other side of the world, wondering where they have gone.


The grass still grows beneath my feet, conquering fields and planting green flags to mark its territory, but night is a barren field.


Day and night, I see what’s right before me, but I can no longer see what lies beyond.


I remember stars.


 Photos are courtesy of NASA, Hubblesite, and Wildfeuer.

24 thoughts on “Night and day

  1. So lyrical, as always. I love looking up at the night sky, searching out my favorite constellation (Orion) and others that I know. I like to imagine Orion as my faithful friend. Once time I spotted him from a plane at 20,000 feet. Very strange experience — the plane’s height gave the illusion that he and I were on eye level.

    • What a great story. A few years ago we drove across the northern states and one night we were able to see the Milky Way. It was breathtaking; I hadn’t seen it for years and years. I can still see it in my mind’s eye.

      • Whoops, that should be “one time” instead of “once time”. I plead temporary caffeine deprivation (hadn’t had my morning tea yet). I have a yen to see the Northern Lights one day. That would be amazing.

  2. Lovely, as always, and it gave me a pang to think of what I could see in the night sky before I lived in the city. Thanks for the reminder. 🙂 Someday, I will see it again, but I think we will have to be retired first.

  3. Stop it…you are SO GOOD at this.
    I knew I’d been transported when an involuntary sigh escaped my chest as I finished reading your poem. Your thoughts reminded me of something I remember my Grandpa saying when I was a little kid (and didn’t understand at the time): “It takes old eyes to see night skies. New hearts for next day’s start”. He would have liked you a lot. Gold Star for your refrigerator.

  4. the Urbane Cowgirl

    Your image of the sun sowing stars as seeds is absolutely breathtaking. I am fortunate in that I live in a place of moderate elevation, low humidity and minimal light pollution. As a result, the night skies are wonder full.

    But just a gentle nudge for you: First stanza of Sarah McLaughlan’s song, “Bring On The Wonder”…….listen and take heart, my friend.

    • So glad you liked the image. I don’t live in a particularly large city but there’s so much light pollution that you can’t see that many stars.

      Thank you for the nudge toward Sarah McLaughlan’s song. I was pleasantly surprised. I guess ideas flit here and there and sing their songs to whoever will listen.

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