Is my mother migrating again? She didn’t have money but clearly the mighty DNA of migration has a greater calling power than economic means. I can’t help but think that my mother’s part of a vast movement of people. It’s sort of like the herds of caribou, millions upon millions moving across the wide stretches of tundra. Lands so vast, so vast a movement, that they can be seen like the Great Wall of China from the upper atmospheres. My mother is part of this vast, distant migration. She’s gone off to the Wild Blue Yonder, sometimes as far out as the outer rim of the galaxy, past the curve of the Milky Way. Who knows? Obviously, I haven’t traveled there. It’s a kind of wilderness. But the rain, the wind, even the solar rays, brings stardust from there. Stardust, working our streams and streaming; touching ours skin and settling in the cool shadows, floating on the water, informing the DNA of dolphins and riding the waves in with me. I like to think that every day these little touches of stardust connect me with the people I love but lost.
