Tonight I went for a late walk, as I now have to do at least a few times each summer, accompanied by the requisite melancholy music, trying to find something with which to painfully come to terms, but my attempts at this rapidly devolved into creating impressive-sounding names and titles -- "The Eternal Guardian of the Iron Wasteland," that sort of thing -- to my eventual chagrin when I noticed what I was doing.
You haven't lived until you've seen a hundred fireflies flashing in unision. Some may take issue with this, postulating that vital function is better established through wanton sex, the use of dangerous drugs, extreme sports, cultural or religious muckings-about, or simply breathing with grave emphasis and listening to the blood rush vigorously through the byways and avenues of one's ears. Such suggestions really ought to be taken with a grain of salt, and never at face value -- that is to say, they must be rejected out of hand.
That spectacle took place nowhere I was tonight, though I've seen it in more graceful places in better company on happier nights. Tonight there was little but a few fireflies flashing in their best approximation of random, but that scene was enough to hold my glance for a moment, and my thoughts for a while longer. Each flash is miniscule, yet brighter than any star in the sky, especially on a night as clouded as this one. Those stars, massive in truth, are fairly inconsequential to this bastion of life. Strange to think that all our own affairs could be rendered still smaller by a quick jaunt to Orion's kneecap. Not that such a thing could happen anytime soon. You can reach for the stars, but they'll only be eclipsed by your hand.
I have no idea what that means, but such a phrase surely must have some use in a world as large as this one.
posted on Tuesday, June 08, 2004
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