Constellation. It is extraordinarily clear this morning – for the past several days it has been raining or cloudy when I wake.
A constellation. Con, with. Stella, stars. With stars. Stars together. Lines of connection we draw between points of light to tell ourselves a story, to lift our myths to the heavens.
Yet those stars together are not together, no closer to one another than we are to them. Only our earthbound perspective makes us think that from the right angle, if we tilt our heads just so at the sky, all the stars will fall into place, and our mythology will fill the sky.
The clear air continues past noon. The air cannot be breathed deeply enough, it feeds a hunger, fills belly as well as lungs. We see for miles and miles and have no way to fathom the length of our gaze. No haze on these horizons. The day dazzles. And though the sky is bald blue, I can hear the ringing of the constellations across the miles.