Jake, Julian, Sneezy, Elliott, Madeline, and Nick: This one's for you.
The stars are the captors of whimsy and wonder. Whenever I gaze up toward the dotted sky, I find myself filled with thoughts of wishes, romance, and long-forgotten fairy tales. When I was younger, I wished that my stuffed animals would come alive. Once I grew a bit older, I would tell myself that the man I would marry was staring at the same night. While my magical days of youth ended years ago, I still find myself looking up at Orion every night and counting each stud in his belt. Forever captivated, I was drawn to their light a few nights ago. With Madeline and Michael at my side, we drove two hours outside of the city with the hope that the clouds would not catch the falling sky.
We pulled off of Highway 2 somewhere in the mountains. The deceptive air was so crisp it felt like it could freeze off your nose with a single gust. A faint stream could be heard when the breeze disappeared. Not willing to tilt our heads toward the heavens, we threw down some spreads and waited for the star shower to begin. It became a game. With unblinking eyes, we abused all corners of sight to try to spot the biggest, boldest, most fantastic-looking meteors. Some were so bright they looked like stadium lights. Others fell in pairs, as if they were a couple that leapt off a bridge together. Soon, however, our eyes were distracted by some unexpected sights. Madeline and I were brought to nervous giggles when a floating sky monster drove us under the covers. To shake our shivers, Michael ignited his glowing machine and streamed Stairway to Heaven. We found ourselves speaking of wishes and romance. As we discussed the peculiar nature of humans and danced in our own way to the sadness-tinged songs, I was stoned by a thought. For a moment, I felt like I was filled with so much warmth that if I was frozen to death by the nipping wind that night, I would die at ease. Realizing that I had thought that thought too many times for it to mean anything, I let my mind meander, and I was struck by a different thought. Unlike the last tangent, this thought blew all of the warmth right out of my nose. I thought, is this what life is all about?
I have always looked to the stars for answers. No entity on earth could ever compare - the ground is littered with cigarette butts and the sea is merely a home to seagull urine. The stars are everything. They are fireflies caught in an immense web, the dead kings of the past, a home for mythical heroes, and the inspiration for teenagers to shove their tongues into each other’s faces. Desperately, I look to the stars for answers. Pleading with my evil eyes, I tilt toward the sky and ask if I’ve lost my head. Am I foolish? Are my beliefs just some fanciful dream woven together by a woolgathering heart? Should I give up? Twinkling, the stars stand silent against their charcoal screen. Taunting from trillions of miles away, they do not bring my stuffed animals to life, and they refuse to give me any answers. The stars don’t mean anything.
Whimsy and wonder wanted to escape me. With only one good eye, the galaxies merely looked like a gallon of spilt milk. We only saw fifteen stars fall. On the way back home, Michael whirled down those winding roads so wildly that my stomach jumped into my throat. I had to sprawl across the backseat to quell my sickness. After nodding off to the sound of stunted conversation, Madeline asked me a question. She asked, “Maggie, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Dazed, I responded, “Well, I want to write or do something with film; but as long as I’m happy, I don’t care what I do.” That statement soothed me right back to sleep, and I did not arise until the dawn had stolen the stars from the night. When the adventure was finally over, and I was safely stowed away in a mass of blankets, I realized that night would always be remembered as one that made me smile. It could keep me going.
Inspiration is as elusive as happiness. I walk along dirtied sidewalks and look toward familiar faces, but lately, I have not found much to fuel my faith. Bland and meaningless, everything in the world seems hateful. My head longs to give up. It longs for normal eyes, an uncluttered mind, nights alone, and a world where the stars don’t mean anything. The heart, however, thinks otherwise. Regardless of experiencing a million misunderstandings, it still believes goodness, it still believes in meaning. And, it still believes that there’s enough out there to keep it beating.
A few days ago I found a bouquet of flowers in the middle of the road. Battered and wilting, it looked like they had been the victims of an urban dispute. Promptly I picked them up by them stems, took them home, placed them in a bourbon glass, and let them decay on the dinner table. It meant nothing at all, but I thought to myself. And I thought, this is what will keep me going.
We pulled off of Highway 2 somewhere in the mountains. The deceptive air was so crisp it felt like it could freeze off your nose with a single gust. A faint stream could be heard when the breeze disappeared. Not willing to tilt our heads toward the heavens, we threw down some spreads and waited for the star shower to begin. It became a game. With unblinking eyes, we abused all corners of sight to try to spot the biggest, boldest, most fantastic-looking meteors. Some were so bright they looked like stadium lights. Others fell in pairs, as if they were a couple that leapt off a bridge together. Soon, however, our eyes were distracted by some unexpected sights. Madeline and I were brought to nervous giggles when a floating sky monster drove us under the covers. To shake our shivers, Michael ignited his glowing machine and streamed Stairway to Heaven. We found ourselves speaking of wishes and romance. As we discussed the peculiar nature of humans and danced in our own way to the sadness-tinged songs, I was stoned by a thought. For a moment, I felt like I was filled with so much warmth that if I was frozen to death by the nipping wind that night, I would die at ease. Realizing that I had thought that thought too many times for it to mean anything, I let my mind meander, and I was struck by a different thought. Unlike the last tangent, this thought blew all of the warmth right out of my nose. I thought, is this what life is all about?
I have always looked to the stars for answers. No entity on earth could ever compare - the ground is littered with cigarette butts and the sea is merely a home to seagull urine. The stars are everything. They are fireflies caught in an immense web, the dead kings of the past, a home for mythical heroes, and the inspiration for teenagers to shove their tongues into each other’s faces. Desperately, I look to the stars for answers. Pleading with my evil eyes, I tilt toward the sky and ask if I’ve lost my head. Am I foolish? Are my beliefs just some fanciful dream woven together by a woolgathering heart? Should I give up? Twinkling, the stars stand silent against their charcoal screen. Taunting from trillions of miles away, they do not bring my stuffed animals to life, and they refuse to give me any answers. The stars don’t mean anything.
Whimsy and wonder wanted to escape me. With only one good eye, the galaxies merely looked like a gallon of spilt milk. We only saw fifteen stars fall. On the way back home, Michael whirled down those winding roads so wildly that my stomach jumped into my throat. I had to sprawl across the backseat to quell my sickness. After nodding off to the sound of stunted conversation, Madeline asked me a question. She asked, “Maggie, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Dazed, I responded, “Well, I want to write or do something with film; but as long as I’m happy, I don’t care what I do.” That statement soothed me right back to sleep, and I did not arise until the dawn had stolen the stars from the night. When the adventure was finally over, and I was safely stowed away in a mass of blankets, I realized that night would always be remembered as one that made me smile. It could keep me going.
Inspiration is as elusive as happiness. I walk along dirtied sidewalks and look toward familiar faces, but lately, I have not found much to fuel my faith. Bland and meaningless, everything in the world seems hateful. My head longs to give up. It longs for normal eyes, an uncluttered mind, nights alone, and a world where the stars don’t mean anything. The heart, however, thinks otherwise. Regardless of experiencing a million misunderstandings, it still believes goodness, it still believes in meaning. And, it still believes that there’s enough out there to keep it beating.
A few days ago I found a bouquet of flowers in the middle of the road. Battered and wilting, it looked like they had been the victims of an urban dispute. Promptly I picked them up by them stems, took them home, placed them in a bourbon glass, and let them decay on the dinner table. It meant nothing at all, but I thought to myself. And I thought, this is what will keep me going.