Maybe 1972?
I look down through clear water and see stars on dead leaves settled on the stream bed.
I look again: stars reflect on the waterskin that must be from the night sky overhead behind me.
But the space disorients. Are these the same stars?
They shine on the water and through the leaves on the stream bed from another sky beneath – beyond the stream.
It’s not dark, no, not night, either. Every element is waiting.
And suddenly–though they were always there–layers and layers of stars above and below reflect, retreat, refract.
In that almost wake state, the voice asks: Can you walk through these walls?
Yes, but not easily.