“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 viewpoint 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 toward 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.
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