Creative Writing

The stars winked and glittered against a velvety black sky, like diamonds strewn across a jeweler's cloth. She felt as if she could pluck one from the sky, examine it for cut and clarity, feel its weight in her palm before returning it to its soft bed. It wasn't like the city, she thought, where the sky was always illuminated by the artificial glow of city lights. There, even at midnight, the sky had a bluish cast to it. But here, in this wilderness, the only light came from a half moon and those tiny beacons. In this setting, it was easy to believe her Native American relatives -- that each star was the soul of some ancestor, ancient or newly departed, watching over their descendents, counseling them when it was needed. Under the vast expanse of inky sky, it was easy to feel insignificant; but with the thought of her ancestors watching over her, she didn't feel so alone. This was a new world for her, a piece of herself that she hadn't known existed until two weeks ago. A piece of herself, she hoped, that would make her feel a completeness she had never felt before.