Missing Maine and summer nights. Therefore hunting up this old composition...
It was one of those Maine nights that I dream about all year, the air tangy and brisk, smelling of pines and sand. The sky was the deep blue, before it fades to black, with stars just shining out. The circle of pines around our cabin stretched up tall, somehow making the sky seem bigger, drawing your eyes up, making you marvel at the vastness of it.
I grabbed Dad’s ipod and headed to the beach, the screen door squeaking, swinging closed, slamming and bouncing. I shook the sand off the blanket that was already laying on the beach, ready for me. On my back, staring at the stars, which shone brighter and clearer every moment, I listened to Iron and Wine and Calexico. Bethie came, and I pulled her close so she could listen too. We were 16, maybe less.
We didn’t talk much, the music and the mood and most of all the stars, silenced us. I smiled at her, the outline of her pale profile bright in the darkness. Right as the notes of Hoppipolia swelled to a climax, we gasped. A star had just shot across the sky, brilliant, trailing light. I had glimpsed them while star gazing before, but barely. They were always exactly where I wasn’t looking, right on the edge of my vision.
This shooting star was perfectly above us, seen fully. When it faded, I blinked, luminescence left under my eyelids. Beth and I glanced at each other wonderingly, her dark eyes shining, marveling at the perfection of the night.
We stayed out for hours, watching and listening. We called the girls to join us, reveling in the beauty, the magic of friendship, laughter and stars. Our astonishing miracle, the shooting star, was repeated fourteen times, twice for each of us. God’s own firework’s display, blazing in the night.