Goodnight stars. Goodnight air.

The peak nights of the Perseids meteor shower were last night (August 12) and tonight (August 13).

I live on a somewhat busy road. Well, busy in the Spring/Summer. Not so busy in the Autumn/Winter. But my home is set back from the road and tonight, as I pull my muskoka chair onto the grass and lean back to gaze upwards, there is no sound but crickets to keep me company.

My son turned 15 months old today. He slumbers upstairs inside the house while I witness shards of light whiz across the sky. So many stars, their tails streaking and then fading, streaking and fading.

I am making wishes again tonight. I have no idea if any of them will come true. A part of me feels like giving up. Nothing has gone as I'd hoped or imagined this summer. I have not sold my home. I have had two offers which did not get past the negotiations/bidding stage. Two offers I've made myself on homes have fallen through (the first, my decision to back away due to a poor inspection result; the second because my offer, which was conditional on the sale of my home, was bumped by a firm offer without conditions).

I don't know exactly what the cosmos is trying to say to me with all that has happened. All that hasn't happened. My footing falters and I'm unsure as to my next steps. Feeling a little lost, as though we are going around in some ceaseless, circular path of getting nowhere. An endless orbit like these stars flying through the sky. Definitely as burnt out as these falling stars. I feel exhaustion and a touch of sorrow mixed together. Confusion. Anxiety. Do we give up trying to leave? Should we just stay? What's best to do? Mostly I just feel...tired. Tired of keeping the entire house spotless with an ever-growing, increasingly active and endlessly curious 15-month old. Tired of adjusting his routine constnatly, disrupting his naptimes, abandoning his regular schedule by rushing out of our home so that strangers can walk through and tell us why they don't love it like we do. My heart feels inordinately heavy tonight.

One positive sign is that, right now, during the slowest month in the year for real estate activity, interest in my home has not waned. There have only been two or three days in the past month when I did not have at least one showing booked. Some days two or three requests. Hopefully one of these times someone will walk in and just fall in love with this place at first sight, like I did ten years ago. We are waiting for that one person. We wait and wait and wait. When, oh when, will they come?

I sigh and try to focus once again up past my pines. Far above I can make out a murky whiteness that appears to be a cloud in the sky, but is actually the galaxy to which this planet and all these shooting stars belong. It is the Milky Way (or what I like to refer to as "the way du lait").

It is after 2 am and I have counted 7 stars now. My eyelids sink slowly down and then I nod, blink and try to open them wider so as not to miss anymore. There goes 8! And right behind it, number 9, whose tail takes the longest to fade into the indigo.

It is as though this vast, silent universe is finally speaking to us all this night. It whispers; its laughter shoots across the inky velvet. Words of love flying from its mouth. Calling out to us.

The shooting stars zip by so quickly, if you blink you will miss them.
They are faster than the wink of an eye.
They are the night sky winking back at us.

I learned a long time ago that winks can convey so very much.

I wonder what these stars are telling me tonight?
I long to understand, but am too knackered to decipher.
Gathering my blankets and pillows, I close the back door and ascend the staircase.

I kiss my own wee star asleep in his crib.
"Heavens, help us!" I whisper to the stars outside.
They blink and blink.
They twinkle and they wink.

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Goodnight room.
Goodnight moon.
Goodnight cow jumping over the moon.
Goodnight light and the red balloon.
Goodnight bears. Goodnight chairs.
Goodnight kittens and goodnight mittens.
Goodnight clocks and goodnight socks.
Goodnight little house and goodnight mouse.
Goodnight comb. Goodnight brush.
Goodnight nobody. Goodnight mush.
And goodnight to the quiet, old lady whispering, "hush".
Goodnight stars.
Goodnight air.
Goodnight noises everywhere.
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Margaret Wise Brown