Stargaze

the owl who counted the stars

The other owls hunted. Stargaze counted. Every night she climbed to the highest dead branch and took the sky's attendance, one star at a time, in a ledger only she could read. Four thousand and nine. Four thousand and ten. It is careful work, and it cannot be done sleepy, so she brews black coffee in a thimble and sweetens it with vanilla, and the night-blooming jasmine below her tree opens just to keep her company. When a star falls she marks it absent, and worries about it for weeks. Stargaze is her long shift, bottled: black coffee and vanilla, jasmine and orange blossom, a spark of pink pepper to keep the eyes open.