A year ago, I thought the stars were asking me to look farther away.

I listened for them in the night.

I wrote about constellations, origins, and the quiet humming that sometimes seemed to arrive from beyond what I could see.

Most of my life, I had looked upward when I was searching for wonder.

I did not yet know another invitation was quietly unfolding.

Not away from the stars—

but through them.

Slowly, they began leading me somewhere unexpected.

Closer to the garden.

Closer to birds.

Closer to bread rising by the window.

Closer to friendship.

Closer to my own body.

Closer to the quiet moments that had been waiting all along.

The stars did not disappear.

They stopped asking me to look farther away.

Perhaps they had always been pointing toward home.

Not away from wonder—

but deeper into it.

Closer to the earth.

Closer to the body.

Closer to the quiet life that had been waiting for me all along.