We are all stardust, and one day we will return to the stars. Someday there will be other worlds, filled with other beings, star-people like us, born from the ashes of another one – a dead star. A star that today we call the Sun.
D. P. Simopoulos
I have been planning this evening for a few days now.
I checked the best view point in the yard – the one that frames the biggest part of the sky. I found the most comfortable chair and I prepared an ashtray to have by my side. I was waiting for the sunset, the twilight, and eventually the night. I was gonna watch the Perseids; I was gonna dream along with them.
The night came when I took a big pillow and I sat on the chair. I rolled a cigarette and the moment I tried to light it, I heard footsteps limp towards me. Yiayia Dimitria is carrying a chair carefully, she is bringing it next to me, she makes it stable on the concrete ground, she is sitting slowly on it, and she tells me in a quiet voice: I will keep you company, not to be alone. She decisively turned her head and her eyes up to the sky with awe at the spectacle – but always with her natural equanimity.
I didn’t say anything. I looked up at the sky as well, and we stayed in silence.
Past. This is what we see when we watch the starlit sky. We see the past.
To be continued…