Every atom of oxygen in our lungs, of carbon in our muscles, of calcium in our bones, of iron in our blood – was created inside a star before Earth was born.
– The American Museum of Natural History

The new Quick Shop building is going up next to the lumber yard and post office. It’s a lot bigger than the one that burned down last year. We’re lucky that Mike, who already has a grocery and liquor store to run on Main Street, decided to re-build. He’s old enough to retire. It’s such an optimistic choice. Our future is bright.

The other day I noticed a bird, a hawk maybe. Actually it looked like an owl, up on one of the new gable ends. You don’t see that every day. Last fall there was a Great Horned Owl in a tree by my sister’s house for a week. I don’t know what became of him.

When I told Chip about the Quick Shop owl, he said they are fake, that they’re decoys to scare  the crows and gulls and keep them from messing with -or on- the roofing materials.

They?

I only saw one, and I swear its head turned.

The next time I drove by I pulled over and looked more closely. There were more owls in strategic locations. Like gargoyles. I feel better knowing that at least one birder pulled out her binoculars for a closer look.

This morning, the sky was navy blue and packed with stars. They were everywhere. I haven’t seen so many in a year.

Even though the deck was frosty and I was in my pajamas I stood there, looking up for a long time. The pull of all those lights is strong. The mystery  mesmerizing, and comforting.  Once, at a funeral someone said that stars are all the people we have loved who have died. That would  be nice, wouldn’t it? There a lot of them. Well, there are a lot of us. Humans don’t last very long compared to tortoises, or comets.

I don’t know much astronomy, but I love a starry sky. I recognized the dipper of course, I’m Alaskan, it belongs to us– and Venus, bright morning star. I can identify Orion too. A handful of lights in what, a trillion? A friend named her son Orion so I learned it. His sister is named for a star in his belt. Rigel will help me win a trivia contest someday, but I can’t identify precisely which diamond in the belt she is.

I was sorry to see a satellite blink.

I wanted my view to be as old as time. Ancient and eternal, and all that. I found the thing  with the binoculars, wondering if maybe it was the space station, if we still have one. I haven’t heard about it lately. Turns out it was a rectangular cluster of bright and dim stars, billions of years old. Ten billion? Four billion? I don’t know. Older than dirt, as my brother-in-law Norm would say.

I wish I took more science classes in school. I wish I knew more about stars and planets. Clouds. Birds too. I’d like to know more about birds. Owls in particular

I do know that me, the dogs, the last yellow leaves on the cherry trees, the sand on the beach and the gull in the wind are made from the same stuff as those stars. It’s true. That means our ancestors really are twinkling down on us.

I tell you what—we live in a miraculous world — and I don’t understand the half of it.