Beneath the black banner, a rock became his pillow. His neck eased as he leaned against the rigid stone while his ankles stirred the cooling silty soil. Below its surface the heat of the day radiated. Above, the sky coruscated and popped. And he watched. He watched in wonder.
It was the same light show that had captured his imagination as a child. One he'd sat under with his mother and father, night after night, before their rest. They'd named stars, and shared stories from the shapes of their scatters. Some tales old, and told to his parents by their parents, and so forth. Others new, pulled from the same mysterious marvel as the scene above.
Be it day or night, the heavens never strayed far from mind. Hour after hour he'd wait in anticipation for the fall of the Sun. The arrival of the first stars marked the beginning of his evening ritual. A small meal, and a quick tidy of his meagre home. After clearing the day's clutter he'd finish by snuffing his candles, hiding away the last of the light that could compete with stars. He'd baptize himself in the sweet extinguished smoke, rinse away returning woes and move to the fire. Throughout the night he’d step further from the flames to look a little closer, to see a little deeper, and let his mind wander amongst the constellations.
Closer. That's all he wanted to be. To the wonders. To his family. At least that's where he hoped they gone. Moving from below the dirt to above, like puddles to the clouds. If he could only reach them.
That thought took him upright. From his feet he stared at the silhouettes of the trees ahead, at their branches rising higher and higher. His eyes swept the horizon, searching for the tallest. Dust kicked as he marched forward, impatience hurrying his gait to a quick trot as passed the threshold, and plunged down a familiar path into the sparse woods. Each step quicker and quicker as he swam through the heat of the night. Until he found him, a gnarled old brute, with an enormous trunk, and thick jagged limbs that sealed the sky from sight.
It took a leap to reach the first branch. The rough textured surface of the giant's bark bit at the soles of his feet. His toes found their careful way, digging within the crevices, steading his steps. He strained his calves, and raised his legs until he could safely stretch to another branch. Saddled between the two, he paused, collected his breath and began his ascent. The pungent perfumes of night blossoms beckoned onwards. The closer he got to the canopy the more inviting the aromas became, welcoming him to salvation, easing the pains in his joints.
It took a few precarious seconds to settle himself on the thin branches as he burst through the top. Steady, he reached for the dazzlers. The sky glittered and danced above but his outstretched hand felt no closer. His arm fell with his spirits. There had to be another way. Hopeless eyes scanned for another, taller ladder to no avail. The behemoth he’d throned dwarfed everything around it, turning smaller trees to shrubberies, and saplings. The sprawl rolled and stretched to the footings of distant mountains.
Elation coupled with embarrassment as the epiphany settled, but they were no match for his excitement. Without a moment of hesitation he scrambled below, and headed home to prepare for his journey.
Well rested and fed, he made his way forth the following morning. He zagged between worn paths of the woods and wove through a small valley. By midday, under one of the larger peaks he began his climb. Braids of sweat puddled along his brow as he toiled up ledges, steep paths, and small cliffs while the Sun wheeled above. He reached the summit as it sank, and waited for his friends to pop from the heavens.
Around him ridge-tops rolled in the distance, dotted by trees swaying in the breeze, trailing towards home. Where he stood should suffice. As the colours blurred to blues and blacks the first twinkles emerged. He rose to greet them, pointing with glee. But as each appeared his joy dissipated. He had climbed to tremendous heights, and yet, stood no closer. While the tapestry above was as gorgeous as ever, it still sat out of reach.
His head hung, and he stepped home. The road back felt endless. The path slippery, and treacherous in the dark. Looks above the canopy sprung sorrow behind his eyes. The loss of his hope mirrored losing them all over again. He arrived home in the heat of the late afternoon, and collapsed to bed with his aches.
That evening he brewed tea, and took his sorrows to the fire. Only after his hollowed insides had warmed did he dare to look up. Above were the same winks, the same promises. Unable to help himself he wandered away from the glow of the flames. With each step his eyes adjusted to the vacant dark, and with each deeper shade of black the lights shone brighter. Cup in hand the skyward steam from his tea raised his spirits. There was something glorious in knowing that he was as close as he could be wherever he stood. That the only effort he could ever make to reach the heavens was to take time to look up.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write