This photograph of water was taken during August’s solar eclipse. Each pinpoint of reflection is light from the sun.
The light from a star is a lonely, faraway fire. A luminous, fixed point burning, falling in on itself to guide travelers, a hundred thousand years before your birth, and a hundred thousand after. A sphere exploding, but tethered, never breaching its own borders, tormented by its own bright light, broken and built again each day, yearning for the soft silence of dusk, the gentle evening mist, the deep black of final night.