Isn’t it tiresome to watch the world and all the meager dwellings of man below? At night, you’ll see that even the most vibrant traces of life are dimmed. Is it particularly interesting, then, to look upon the concrete, the plain facades of buildings or the pallid hues of lamplight?
Although I’d have the chance to rest above on lofty heights, and all of mankind’s common sights condescend, I’d rather, much rather, choose to peer above, at the multitude of stars, and trace among these the figures of antiquity and romance. I’d fawn over that timeless throng and find each one in vibrant colors decked, as if to outshine the rest. You’ll see them float in pairs sometimes, or alone, and on particular nights, a reckless one will cast itself headlong across the stage and unravel, that it would chance to meet its distant match, if only for a moment. These are, of course, the most beautiful to watch, who give themselves to tragedy and love. And yet, not all the wonder’s wrapped in woe: when Mars and Venus meet, or Altair and Vega, or the timid ones that glow dimly in the nebulae or hide in the heavens’ vast expanse – then there is nevertheless a spectacle. Simply look above when the night is clear and watch the stars’ eternal waltz – and laugh, knowing some fool will point to a star, mistaking it for Polaris, and admire it as if it were, nonetheless.