I stood in the freezing cold, staring up at the night sky. Over head, a thousand thousand stars flickered and glowed as I watched, and I traced the Milky Way and myriad constellations across the dark. As my gaze traveled the road of light toward the north, I saw one star flare and drop toward the horizon with a trail of fire and dust.
I made a wish.
The briefest of times passed and I got what I asked for. It was the simplest of wishes, and was answered with the simplest of actions, just a tiny moment, but I caught it, like a falling star.
Sometimes we are fortunate enough to share a bond with another person, a connection. But often we fail to recognize the small miracle that is that bond, the connection that comes through blood, through an elbow in the side that results in hilarity, through a smile, through a spontaneous sing along, through a shared moment of happiness, through what we call love. So often we take the easy way out of that connection, whether from fear or disinterest, turn away from it, turn it aside, sometimes with angry words and hateful deeds.
Our connection to one another is a little miracle, though, and like a falling star that lights up the night sky, we should cherish it and never let it fade away.
So, this is it: the end of November.
Thank you, once again, to those of you who went the distance with me this month. I think I surpassed myself in terms of sheer inanity. But you might have gotten a good recipe out of the whole exercise.
For the sake of continuity (and because it's my last day to help blow up the Internet), I give you
The Official Last Post of NaBloPoMo Shoe Photos:
We start with what the not-so-fashionable woman wears to a rock concert when she needs to run. Privos! This pair visited San Juan, Phoenix and...lord, where else did I go? St. Louis, possibly. Otherwise, it was those Dansko boots from last year. Admittedly, the boots are sooooo 2007, but actually, more comfortable. Just harder to run in.
Next, hiking boots. Because I have a sense of humor. Also because the spouse says I am so cute in hiking boots (especially with my spiffy sage Smartwool half-zip. I may be less than fashionable at a rock concert, but I burn up the great outdoors with my style). And yup, I see there's still mud from Moro Rock. Appalling.
I long ago decided that it didn't matter if I tower over the rest of world. I do it barefoot, so why should I forego high heels? Besides, these are called Annabel. How appropriate is that?
Tomorrow's a new month; aren't you happy?
Go listen to some good music: "Catch a Falling Star" from the album Platinum & Gold Collection: Perry Como by Perry Como.