What did Virgo’s stars portend? A prophecy of place and time, a raison d’être. On the designated date, September twenty-first–on the cusp of Libra the Just–I am pushed into the Autumnal Equinox. Formed in a fog like a nebula. Delivered in sorrow on fall’s first day.
Early autumn brings blue asters, sweaters, schooldays, and storms. My twenty-three-year-old mother, unloved and alone, is unaware my birth facts might be muddied or muddled in secrets, lies, and myth. That I would be kept from the truth of my origins. Hers is another post-war charity case. The records are sealed.
The woman and child, united by un-virtuous accident, are separated in a single, swift scoop of happenstance. A union of chance is brought asunder by circumstance, that all concerned should be protected. She is told she shouldn’t hope to see me again.
Out of the wild blue yonder, an infant girl from a foundling home joins a childless Air Force couple. Blue like a September sky. Like a sapphire birthstone.
