In the elegant plains of the valley, I watched the stars travel through the arcane night sky. They held a slight effervescence, moving through the silent night without any explanation. My back lay on the quilt with my feet planted on the grass and my head staring up, tilting to the side ever-so-slightly as if ruminating. Though the tiny stars looked futile, they brought me pictures of my childhood. Rampaging through the crowded marketplace, bumping into stalls. Old people yelling at me to "Slow down!", their quiet eyes revealing only what they want to be known.
My large home sat on a hill on the far east of town - where the sun rose every morning. In it lived four of us - my mother, father, sister, and me. One morning before the sun rose, my father woke me abruptly. He grabbed me by my wrist, pulled me out of bed, and dragged me to the front door without saying a word. As he reached for the doorknob, he put one finger to his mouth signaling for silence, and he grabbed a bag from beside the door. Quietly, we walked out the door and toward the marketplace. The only others there were the elderly - gazing upward at the stars - in their rockers. Then, my father pulled out a quilt from the bag, laid down flat on the rocky cobblestone street, and told me to sit. After, we both looked up at the sky, watching the stars go by. He pointed up and uttered to me, "if you stare close enough at the stars, they'll show you a joyful memory with people now deceased." At that moment, I started to whimper, complaining that I saw nothing.
He smiled and said, "they only show to those whose happy times are now long gone, leading a life now filled with impotence."
I queried, "But, daddy do you see anything?"
He stood up slowly and began, "Not if I live hoping that those times will never pass."
I nodded my head, trying to understand how blissfulness is lost with age.
Evidently, we packed up and started back home as the sun began to rise. I looked back at the old people sitting, rocking. Their eyes now loud with tears of numerous losses.
The memory began to fade while the stars vanished from the sky, above the vast plains. The sunlight shone around me showing the piles of cobble and charred wood scattered about, where the marketplace once stood, and on the hill behind me, a now-tiny house was perched. Slowly, I trotted up the hill toward the house - now proving to be a treacherous journey. Once at the house, I grabbed my rocker, pulled it outside, and sat down rocking back-and-forth - gazing quietly at the world around - knowing my once innocence and joy is now long gone.
Sincerely,
A pessimistic old man