Raise your glass with me. Let's toast to the summer nights where you hold yourself, wrapped in soft woolen blankets, spread out on the itchy green grass, staring up at the blue clouds and the white stars and the expansive heavens. You can see the Little Dipper, and Orion, and the North Star.
And you think you can see God's face.
You hold yourself because your soul is in danger of fluttering away. If you don't catch it, and snap it back into place, it just might float into the starry-sky-eyed black universe never to be seen again.
But you do catch it. You snuggle it back into yourself and you smile because you know just who you are and where you're going and what you want to do.
But for a moment, for a split-second, longest-of-moments, hold-your-breath-and-shiver moment, you were scared. Because you didn't know what was going to happen.
But it's gone now. You're you. Everything's all right.
And the future is certain.
Right?
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