In a universe not our own, a flower sits atop a mountain with a view of an ocean that stretches into the galaxy beyond; a curved beyond enticing to the beauty in the dark. The star-filled skies are but one of the wonders that engulf the night sky with an array of games by celestial bodies just out of reach. As the flower observes the illuminated spectacle in the darkened skies it somehow knows that daytime lurks just beyond the horizon. The planet’s red dwarf always just beyond reach of the cold dark resting under the glimmer of nearby nebulae and dying celestial bodies. A flower, perpetually to watch the dance of planet and red dwarf in their tidally locked minuet, with its partner listening to the silence of motion as they turn once more.
Vitality lost to that which cannot cease. An end when all is ahead; where a sense of eternity is the death of will, for what would the flower want, or ever so? Tireless, a mound above the lump of soil elevated to the right height for the flower to witness/marvel ever meaningfully into the reaches of a distance never to be travelled. For what would the flower be without the mountain and what arrangement would exist, if not this, if a lack of another were to be?
What is the meaning of the floating pebbles in the distance, ponders the mountain. Can the mountain share its query with the ever resting companion on its summit? If able, what would the message be? Why would an asteroid belt be the wonder to the mountain that the stars are to the flower? Is there a connection between the viewers that allows for juxtaposition, a sense of wonder, of radical thought? Why does the flower live? Why does the mountain not die?
The minuet in full turn reveals, with its contrasting theme, the beauty of yet another marvel beyond the curved veil of its ocean. Here, the flower contemplates a dark hole in the horizon slowly pulling the red dwarf and all of its host nearer to the ravager. During this turn in the dance, there is always a hole of empty darkness in the center of the end of perpetuity surrounded by such a distorted perception of the stars just beyond. How grotesque, to live with such beauty and emptiness abound in what seems but mere moments away in the timeless life of the flower.
I live and I die to this view every moment I return to it. I see but wish for blindness in this eternal struggle between titan and flower. A mountain, a flower, and an ocean in the vastness of a life well lived in the splendor of all that is and becomes not. What will it mean to rest in the darkness the flower observes? To be split from the mountain would surely result in trepidation. What malady would the ocean forgo to be without a captive observer? Would the minuet have meaning without the flower, the mountain, or the ocean, to supplement the splendor of the dance with thoughtful interpretation?
Wonderment and the sense of exploration alive once more, as the contrasting theme and spin takes us back to the splendor of the night-filled sky, the floating pebbles, and the galaxy beyond the curve of the horizon. Such wonderment, affixed the desire to remain in this view suffer they, the ocean, the mountain and the flower.
