Before dawn I saw a shooting star… on its tail I rode back and back to when I was 9 years old… in my cozy Coleman sleeping bag gazing deep up into the dark morning sky… quiet all around except the soft snore of my best friend George, my always buddy, quick to wag his tale or offer an understanding look straight to my nine year old heart… my arm around his warm neck as a slight rustling sound emerged from my family’s heavy green Coleman canvas tent a little distance away from my spot. It was always so satisfying picking my own spot, laying out my sleeping space just so I could see the stars as I fell to sleep and, if I was lucky, woke up early to them still, like this morning, with waking awareness of the slight damp of dew, the water sounds of the trout brook next to us, the particular fragrance of Rocky Mountain spruce and pine and aspen. I always feel closer to God, and to who I am, gazing at a night sky with the tops of trees framing my point of view….