On the night before your birthday, you should sleep out under the raspberries.


 Fireflies. Bullfrogs. Occasional glimpses of stars in the cloudy sky. Dark pine silhouetted across an open sky. Two cars, a few dogs, mostly quiet. Quiet. Quiet.

Awakened during the night only by logistical issues. Where is the pillow? I’ve edged off the therma-rest. Where’s my extra blanket? My head is cold.

And then they start. Robins. Blue jays.

My first image: pine silhouette, open sky, and the thinnest, most stunning sliver of the moon hanging with a few wispy scattered clouds that almost immediately hide its glory.

Happy birthday to me from Mother Earth.