Young Writers Society

Stars Chapter

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Absent at day, but each night loyal,

Fill me with wonder bright mystery,

your tender complexion to comfort each child.

ever-present life,

may you be wished by the hopeful,

seeked by the lost,

admired by the blessed,

and held dearly by heavenly hands.

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        Almost every night, I take a moment to lift my head up to the vast night sky. My eyes adjust from the darkness to identify the stars. I smile when I see my favorite constellation. Just for a few minutes, it’s me and the bluer than black, wonderous space. Some nights are less full than others---the stars are just a bit too dim to see, the moon already passed by, and the Big Dipper is nowhere in sight. Yet, my faithfulness to acknowledging the sky each night has given me plentiful rewards.

        One time in the summer, I spent my evening with my dad, floating along the water like floating freely in the vast space I was staring up at. Out of nowhere, a bright row of lights in a straight-line pass over the sky. Of course, my first instinct was aliens (my second being government drones migrating to the south for the summer). Neither of us had our phones so we were left completely absorbed in the moment. This moment would become a lasting one. I remember every sense and every emotion. Excitement and curiosity leapt from my skin, and I physically got out of the pool to pace back and forth. Without a phone to tell me what these lights were, it was all up to my brain to provide any reasoning for their existence. Back in the pool, I reverted to that weightless floating position on my back as the lights continued (some muffled indie music played as my ears dipped under the water). My dad and I felt like two children seeing a shooting star for the very first time. We were excited and curious and naïve. Wonder was the word. Several minutes afterward, my dad and I continued with our conversation about what above earth had just happened.

        I'd eventually research about the mysterious glows that I had seen several hours ago. The white screen would tell me those lights were starlink satellites. I’d read an article about how they were launched, how many exist in the sky, who owns them, etc.; that information was neat, but the memory is what lasted.

        Maybe those satellites were what sparked that childlike curiosity that compels me to look up each night, or maybe I was curious long before that (I do now recall my piano teacher and various library books from my childhood deeply impacted my love for space). All I know is that ever since that night, I gaze at the sky for any new little revelation. Any barely visible satellite, any and every shape of the Moon as it makes its debut (she has taken up many photos in my camera roll), any shooting star, any planet and star showing a bit more hope than the others. I look forward to each time the sun disappears.

        Another night---I can't remember when; it was just so incredibly cold---I had received a notification from my star app that a broken off piece of Haley's Comet would be visible at 5:00 AM. Promptly at 4:45, I went outside, and lay down on top of a picnic table. Bundled in at least five layers of blankets and sweaters, I waited...and waited...and waited. How my eyes were begging to close so I would fall back asleep. But I decided to keep them open for just a few more minutes.

        Fffhhht.

        There! There it was. For less than two seconds there was a piece of Haley's Comet. There was me awake with it. How it burned with many colors. A streak of green with some orange and white sliced the sky. There was me, and there it was. Sure, other people in the world may have been awake to witness it too, but to me, that chunk of that comet that passed years ago was a gift for my eyes to twinkle at. Funny how a memory that lasts less than two seconds can be one of my favorite memories of the sky.

        For people like me who don’t have access to a camera that captures stars and varying shades of the night sky (and a moon that doesn’t just look like a white bean), I believe that those people find the moments they physically look up to all the more special. The stars become as personal as a local cafe barista that I've seen regularly enough to greet them by their first name and ask about their day. I'm not particularly close with them and don't know who they are outside of that coffee shop just as I don't know where that star goes or who it is during the rest of the day. But, when it glimmers at night, I know it and smile at it.

        Stars are appreciated by everyone (I firmly believe this to be true). For me, they are a created gift by God. For others, they were a map, a celestial presence, a guide to a king in a stable. Some scientists hold them as the essence of life; historians observe them and can be reminded of mythology from long ago. Children make wishes to them. Stories are made about them. From the beginning of time, these out-of-reach lights have been regarded as beautiful and dear to humans. These burning chemicals that rest further than the moon and sun have made their own memories in each person. Even when they’re flame ceases, they’re memory will last.