Cabin

Sometimes I take the three and a half hour drive to my cabin up north, lie outside on the overgrown grass, look up watching the sky move, close my eyes, and imagine disappearing into the earth. One, maybe two days on the weekend I have time to dream of existing elsewhere. On a Friday, I leave right from work at 4:59pm. I don’t even stop to eat. I wake up ten minutes early that morning to fill the tank. When I arrive, the sky is dark and clear. The stars are many and bright. I lie there on the cool grass, still in my $400 Armani, and watch the stars blink. One falls. One shoots across the sky. But finally, for the first time this week I am not in motion. I am still, and if I wanted to I could lie here until earth began to turn toward the sun, until light began to press into my eyelids, until my body began to feel the heat of those glorious rays.