The Loneliest Star
Every day she rises, climbing the sky stairs effortlessly, without pause. Come rain or dark clouds or thunderstorms or rabid winds. Her golden fleet marches the soil grounds, somewhere on the planet. Her flaxen rays warm it, burn it, nurture and kill it. She’s always there, yet some claim the sun is the loneliest star.
How can she be lonely up there in the sky? Casting yellow and tangerine and cotton candy pink onto the backs of clouds. With the view of the gods, she sees everyone and everything, the grand surveyor of life, becoming.
The sun remembers the first glint of the seas. She remembers the first splashes of time when winged creatures hatched from strange shells and giant beasts roamed the land, sky, and sea.
She smiled when the human found flame and laughed with joy when the tiny people noticed her, prayed to her, worshipped her, and thanked her. For centuries the celestial orb was transfixed by their curious building and innovation, evolving, changing before her eyes, forgetting her at times, daring to believe it was she who revolved around them. But always, there lived a thousand souls who sat beneath her warmth, accepted it as their own, and shared a fleeting sunrise, afternoon, or sunset.
Just as she saw life, she saw death and is forever doomed to acknowledge its cyclical journey. She’d miss those who visited, freckled on their noses, cheeks, and shoulders by her constant attention. Another civilization collapsed, and more lives disappeared. She’d mourn the people and creatures of the past. She’d never forget them.
The star saw the cave paintings and the pyramids rise. The birth of aviation gave her hope for closer friends. Time passed, but she always woke somebody or put them to bed.
For all the loneliness of the great star above, she carries the past, present, and future in the buttery rays. She has you. And you have her. Forever.
