Obit 4 (for those who keep stars on hand)
She was six when she learned about Orion’s Belt. The constellation matched the three equidistant freckles on her left hand, the only real reason it was of interest. She knew she was part of something larger, and that was enough to know.
The constellation is easy to see in Winter’s sky almost anywhere, and it always shows around the time of the Epiphany.
The three stars are technically blue giants or super blue giants, meaning that they will still be recognizable long after other constellations will have distorted into new configurations.
She had read somewhere, could not forget the idea that you only ever die the last time someone says your name.
Winter again, in the suburban driveway of her childhood home, but far, far from childhood. Surrounded by moving boxes from two different storage units, two different cities, two different relationships (and more bad decisions than that), she scans the night sky and finds Orion’s belt again.
From her ex’s backyard on New Year’s Eve in Los Angeles, she had also seen the stars, then an admonishment. The stars were were with her still later, enduring a lonely, polar winter on Long Island, too. They were there the entire winter in Rome, too, hung every night above the Vatican no earlier than 9.
She mistrusted the lines on a map, was daughter to many philosophies, and spent a lot of time marveling at how well-tailored to its humans the scale of the earth was, even its winds and rains.
She was born in Summer but waited for Winter.
Join us in celebrating all those who keep stars on hand as a rejoinder to the giant question-mark of the universe, a reminder of the origin of the iron in our blood.
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