...a Third Story Window in Madison

Red lights hang like low-flying stars tonight.

In the distance, radio towers send out tendrils of music, voices calling out in the darkness towards the cars rolling along the expressway towards their myriad destinations. The home depot sits steady and glowing orange across the way.

The cold air travels through the cotton of my socks, to the tips of my toes, through my nerves, synapses sending shivers to my chest. My shaking is a wrestling match between this disease and my white blood cell battalions. Obviously I'm rooting for my immune system... supplying it with endless vitamins and rest (at least a days worth in a hotel if one can call that rest).

The song playing in my headphones is Sarah by Ray Lamontagne. It makes me think of the many Sarahs that have crossed my path. On average, Sarah (or Sara as she'll sometimes spell it) is a pretty normal girl if you don't get to know her, but there's always a hidden force. There's some indie retro gloss under that plain pretty packaging. Sara(h) has always had friends, never had too much trouble fitting in, or at least not by the time we meet. By then, she's found her place in the world. More often than not, she's Jewish. For Ray Lamontagne, Sarah draws up memories of childhood. Running around reckless in the grain... wild childish abandon... in me, she draws up memories of the conservative Sarah of Hebrew School, the cute, wild cheerleader Sara of AP Junior English and the indie rocker Sara from Elementary School all the way to Senior Year Creative Writing with Jim Barnabee. Sarahs can stick to your brain sometimes, without your choosing. And sometimes you don't even know they're there... like a burr that catches you when you're not looking. Hello Sarahs. Wherever you are.

Sufjan Stevens is singing now. About my home state of Illinois no less. I suppose when you set a simple thing to music, it because much more magical. Its why I choose to look at the world through my ears before anything else... my ears can be better diggers than my other senses, clawing their way through the distractions to the truth of the matter. So long as I don't keep playing my music this loudly, I suppose.

No seeing stars here, I'm afraid. Not the real stars anyway. I can see the big dipper and some of Orion... there's Sirius hanging in the sky, these are just the greatest hits. I'm much more a fan of those places of pure black when the stars almost light the way... so remarkably stark against the deep dark sky and the ground under foot that they seem to etch trails through the grass... those are stars.

I wonder, if one day we'll use satellites to simulate starlight. Once we've artificially lit the whole world and night is simply the flip of a switch, will we hang the stars ourselves? Will we redraw the constellations to tell a new story? Will my horoscope no longer matter? So many questions...

That's all for now.