A Starry Maine Night (Think Van Gogh)

May 19, 2012 § Leave a comment

The Maine night is dark and noiseless. None of that urban clamor of too many lights and metal and people who’ve forgotten how to live.

The only marks of modernity, if they can be called that, are the warm glow of the house in the distance and the silent telephone pole standing tall and stoic above her. Not even a crackle of pulsing electricity from the disciplined wooden post.

The night is far from soundless though. There’s a slight wind murmuring sleepily through her hair and clothes; an orchestra of tiny, invisible wildlife are performing a soft adagio concerto; and the grasses underneath her shoes rustle and swish as if to remind her that they, too, live and breathe this world.

The field stretches on darkly like an undulating dress with the single tarmac road as its waist-belt. A forest of trees loom in the distance, slyly marking an illusory boundary to the fields. They paint the landscape with another broad swath of darkness, another shade of night, while drawing a deep yearning for danger, for mystery, for possibility. For the primordial beginnings.

No moon tonight. The night wraps more of its dark, sheer layers over the world, swaddling everyone and everything in black, intangible shrouds.

The stars, though, the stars are the true highlight of this night. They aren’t particularly clear or bright tonight; her friend comments that the stars are especially striking during the winter, when the nights are one cosmic brushstroke of inky black.

But that isn’t the point. The point is that she can see them, that the silence and the dark and the far-twinkling points are there, reminding her of long-forgotten, deeply-buried memories.

She stretches her fingertips towards the infinite depths, towards the diamonds too far out of her reach. She stretches, nerves tingling as her eyes and hands yearn for something she can’t quite grasp.

The stars are so far and so faint. The night stretches away endlessly, shades upon shades of navy, sable, and ebony.

No urban noise, no rushing distractions, nothing to overwhelm and swarm and drown out this peace and quiet, this feeling of something great and subtle pulsing just underneath the surface of all things.

She breathes in, reveling in the sharp clarity of the air. None of that metal dust of the city.

She breathes in, closes her eyes, and spreads her arms towards the sky.

She breathes in and feels her heartbeat align with the pulsing rhythm of the energy all around her.

“I’m cold so I’m going back into the car,” her friend calls out.

She opens her eyes to the faint twinklings above. After a moment, she slowly, gracefully, let her arms drop and breathes in one more time, feeling that sharp, cool air clear her lungs.

Then she smiles and with one last sweep towards the stars, slides into the car, nerves still tingling and pulse still beating with some ancient energy, primordial and reinvigorating.

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