Last night I stepped outside into the bracing cold to
let the dog out one last time before bed.
Already, the ground glinted with heavy frost.
I breathed in sharply. My nostrils burned.
Instinctively, I shoved my hands deeper into my
coat pockets. I looked up and waited for my eyes to
adjust to the darkness. Slowly, I saw stars.

It was then the thought came to me that someone,
right this very minute, was having a baby.
I imagined the mother, trembling with strength,
hair wet and matted, sweat beads framing her upper lip,
body curved into a C-shape, turning herself inside out.

If only I could tell her that the sky was littered with diamonds
that told a story about this very moment.
I wished that I could call to her across the inky orb.
I think she might be heartened to know that the babe she
now held was dripping with stardust.
Perhaps that might make her smile.

Holly Grantham
Holly is a wife, very relaxed homeschooling mom of three boys, snapper of photos, coming of age writer and a soul drowning in grace. After years in Atlanta where she attended college, married the love of her life and lived in an intentional community, she found her way back to her home state of Missouri. She now lives in an antebellum stone house, raises chickens (sometimes) and pretends that she lives in the country.
Holly Grantham

Latest posts by Holly Grantham (see all)

Holly Grantham