Really, stars are a collection of nuclear explosions. Hydrogen and helium react together, which builds heat and creates a glow that we see from unspeakable miles. The brilliant pinpoints we witness are actually so far away that the illuminations take many years to reach us. The lights are very old and very wise.
I look up at the stars tonight, though, and don’t think about explosions and gases. I think of the Inuit people who believe stars are actually the lights around a great dance floor in Heaven. I tilt my head back to take in as much of the velvet canopy of sky as I can. Then, I imagine instead that the stars are little windows into a world we cannot really know. They reflect golden streets and some kind of brilliance so intense that we can only stand to see pieces of it down here. They are portals to Heaven, you see, and, every once in a while, Dad can peer down and watch me watching him.
I take a deep breath of the silver night air, now, a chill pleasantly filling my chest as I settle onto the hilltop behind my house. The moon, the lesser light, plays hide and seek behind sparse tree branches. The longer I sit and watch, though, the higher it rises, an ivory balloon some child has lost his hold on. Tonight, the moon wears a halo. They say it will snow tomorrow, though, and I imagine it dons a fleecy, white cape in order to keep it warm.
In the distance, trucks pass by on the turnpike, their lights competing with the playful moon. It’s strange to have a highway in your backyard, but, in the summer, when I open my bedroom window so that my room will cool at night, I hear these great monsters passing by with a slow, lonely howl. They are comforting for some reason. They echo my heart here. They remind me of longing.
What is it that the moon longs for? I wonder if it wishes to rule the day as the sun does. Maybe it desires for influence, so it plays coquet as it tugs at frothy waves. Perhaps it can only wish for companions closer than stars. Or maybe it has the better deal because it can glimpse Heaven in little snippets. Is that what why the moon sneaks between the trees and peaks over mountain tops? Oh, to have the vanilla moon’s vantage point. If only I could see so clearly.
Aimee--
ReplyDeleteOnce again, beautifully done. Your moon musing/description really conveys your longing. That's a great symbol: the pull, the isolation (though, as you mention it is in the company of the stars, it is the only one of its kind in our sky), the competitive desire to be noticed (over the lights of the trucks, instead of the sun). I, too, was thinking of nature blog writing at night--because nature doesn't shut off just because the lights (well, the light of the sun) do.
"What is it that the moon longs for?" I just love this.
ReplyDeleteDiane Ackerman wrote, "The sky is the one visual constant in all our lives, a complex backdrop to our every venture, thought, and emotion." and,"You are standing in the sky." and "We breathe it deep within us. With every breath, we inhale millions of molecules of sky, heat them briefly, and then exhale them back into the world. At this moment, you are breathing some of the same molecules once breathed by Leonardo daVinci..." I found great solace in these thoughts. As I look for Evan in the sky, or as you look for your Dad in the stars; here they are. Not so far at all.
Beautiful pictures, and beautiful images. I love the stories that people have about stars; they capture the imagination and beg us to dream. Your thoughts are great.
ReplyDeleteYou have this way of weaving between imagery and the concrete that is so lyrical, so that even the details carry significance and weight. Lovely!
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