Snow and skies

It's snowing.

Snowing like tomorrow morning the morning light will be reflected in the ground.  Like right now the city lights are a blur through falling flakes. Like season purgatory is over and it's finally, undeniably winter.

On Tuesday night, I was awake at 3:30 a.m. looking out the window at a dancing green aurora.  It was a moment I wanted to freeze: wrapped in a blanket, looking at light apparitions, alone in my awake-ness.

It got me thinking about the moon.  How it always seemed bigger in Amman.  Like the moon was as Arab as the people on the ground.  Like it subsisted off the same diet I did-- of falafel and snickers bars.

The skies seem so different between Amman and Alaska.  But lately I've been looking for the same stars I saw with Katrina in the desert on that night where we didn't go to sleep.  When we counted 6 shooting stars and hiked up a mountain before the sunrise and fell asleep on top as the sun finally started to dawn.

When I have a spare moment, I try to think about the things I took home with me from Jordan.  It seems like a dream.  Like something so foreign, it's incomprehensible.

But the cafés on Rainbow Street are starting to move their outdoor tables inside at night now.  And here it's snowing.

It just seems like we're all going in the same direction.