Starry-eyed Nostalgia
Walking from the garage on a clear, cold Winter night, I glanced at my favorite constellation and said, mostly to myself, "There's Orion." Instantly discerning what to others may have been a cryptic uttering, he stopped in his tracks, looking up. "Where?" I showed him the three stars making up the hunter's Belt, then the outline of the rest while we stood as if frozen to the spot. "When I was a kid, our club was called the Orion Club..." he explained with almost child-like exuberance, beckoning back to when the region had larger swaths of undeveloped land. Ancient humps of bygones dunes hidden within the forestry and endless seas of prairie grass with billowing cattails giving way to childhood revelry on the edge of a hopeful city.
Trailing Orion’s Belt
The scent of smoke-kissed clothing mixed with the honey-like sweetness of a youth’s memories recall these untraveled paths, held tightly by saffron and clove leaf, composing the autumnal, furling edge of days passed, the sweet crunch of leaves underfoot. A never-memory studded forever by Orion’s three stars and frosty-clean air.
