Starry Night

Tonight I laid under a sky I had never seen before. Orion’s belt falling off the horizon line, the ship’s steam fogging portions of my view, where the wind blew it. I heard the stars were different on the other side of the world, like a whole new set to explore. The music of Bob Marley and Rod Stewart flowed through my headphones, drowning out the giggles and shouts of pub night as I studied the view.

At first, there were bright, twinkling stars. Big ones like what I use to identify the Big Dipper. One or two held a faint tint, a little bit of color, like sherbet ice cream. I assume they were planets, like Mars back home, or maybe satellites.

And then as I lay there for a while, I began to notice other stars appearing. Much more faint and much smaller, the sprinkles of the sky. There were so many. They were the skeletal system of Orion, his ribs and clavicle, like an x-ray, a personal, confidential view the doctors accidentally let slip. They filled in all the gaps of the bigger stars. I wondered about their age. Were they faint because their light had run out? Or because they were just emerging? As my eyes adjusted, they stood out as much as their competitors.

Together these stars created a constellation with an intensity I had never seen. Before this, my best star gazing opportunity was on a tiny lake in Washington, on my cousins’ dock and away from the city lights. Now there were no lights for miles. No reflections, no glows, no nothing. I decided tonight to make a habit out of stargazing while we’re at sea, because I’m not sure where I can go on land to get this kind of darkness.

The stars rocked from side to side with the motion of the ship, the motion of the ocean. It was a little hypnotizing, and a lot cool. A little peace and quiet is always nice, and nature makes for a good date.

I was thinking about those little stars when my mind wandered to people. You know, those tiny flecks are just as important as the big stars. Have you heard that metaphor, the corny one about the girls at the top of the tree being “good apples”, and that guys are just too lazy to climb all the way up to the top, so they pick the “bad apples” instead? Maybe these stars are like me on the ship, or in God’s eyes. Maybe I’m a faint star, the ones you don’t notice at first. But when you really look to see what’s out there, you find they’re all as beautiful as the next one. Not the same, but unique nonetheless.

Don't overlook anyone. Sometimes the quiet people have the most to say.