The Symphony of the Morning Stars

            Once upon a time, a symphony arose.  It came every day, and careful souls would still and watch and listen, for it was glorious.  There are none left who remember, for we have forgotten it, and there are no more careful souls to hear.  But it might have gone like this...

            A blink.

            A small, sweet blink that lights the sky, so soft and quiet that only the most careful could stir to the sound—and they are all asleep.
            A moment passes, and then a sister brightens in reply.
            A third chimes in, and then a forth.  And slowly the sky begins to fill.  They are tentative at first.  A note here, another there, as though there is a wee babe that they are scared of waking.  The eyes of the careful souls, awake now, jump in delight from one side of the sky to the other to try and catch the space between the sounds.
            The notes twinkle, readily now, across the huge expanse, their sounds flickering about like the drips of rain getting ready to pour.  It is a great cacophony of sound, but all in a single tone; for they are tuning.
            And then silence, as though a great Conductor waves his wand in that curiously tight motion that holds music in check as though to say, ‘Stop, wait.  Not yet but get ready.  We are about to make a sound.’
            The tingling of anticipation sets the sky as light as a false dawn.  The Conductor lifts his wand.  It is coming.  On his cue.
            And then the morning stars begin to play, the greatest symphony there ever was, as the sky is lit with the light of a trillion stars.  They play to each other, and to glory, and to the light of the dawn.  And those careful souls who hear them know joy…
            There are no more careful souls, it seems, and we have forgotten that the morning stars play, as we have forgotten so much.  But, perhaps, that does not stop them.


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