Since Evelyn’s death, I often go to Yosemite, and in the
middle of the night, I walk into the meadow and lose myself in the wonder of the constellations turning overhead.
Without city lights, the stars are clear and bright and seem almost close enough to touch. Everyone in the valley has turned in
for the night, even the animals, except for a few who are looking for a late
night snack, and I try not to think about them. The meadow is so quiet that I
can hear the hoot of an owl on the other side of the valley and the footsteps
of what I hope is a coyote trotting by.
* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *
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