I want us to make this pilgrimage every week:
After we have kindled the Sabbath candles,
walk away from the house and stand
in the back field, away from the road’s
light and traffic, so that the stars become
brighter and we can look at our own house
for what it is — a shelter from the wilderness
that surrounds us, the ancient light of the
Milky Way and the steady beating of the wind
rattling ash and spruce. Endless wind, endless night,
a harmony so frightening we head back
into the house, pretending to be cold. Could we
add a minute each time to what we
can bear, so that years from now we will
stand there all night in the slow circling of heaven,
the Dipper emptying itself, the fox and deer
brushing against us as they make their rounds.