The Sky Full of Stars

Oh my poor diary, how I've neglected you of late. It's shameful really, when you've always been such a patient listener and confidante. I really don't know where the time has gone, except that my sewing machine has barely been silent. But these are, at best, excuses and I shall trouble you with them no more.

Do you know the world is a magical place, even here on this earth so far away from Faerie. People forget; slowly, inexorably they stop pausing to enjoy the beauty and wonder all around them. Its nobody's fault; life is hectic and there is always so much to do and be done. So when instants of absolute stillness occur, when you can hear the heart of the Universe beating out it's symphony, when time crystallises into that one perfect moment, these are the times that are the most precious we have.

I had such a moment last night.

I had heard rumours from our friends that Mr Darkle Sands had been experimenting with light in the manner of that august gentleman Mr Tesla. I made so bold as to ask Darkle if I might be able to see his creation and he very kindly said that I could. For all his quiet reserve, he truly does have the soul of a poet (as a very dear friend told me; how right she is).

Above the clouds, nestled between heaven and earth, he laid out his masterpiece with the care and tenderness of a proud father. And he had every right to be proud. The gentle glow of the bulb field was utterly breathtaking, wrapped in silken shreds of cloud that fleetingly touched the earth before melting away into nothingness.

I called Alfonso to see the quiet majesty of the spectacle, knowing how much of a fan of Mr Tesla he is. And Miss Paris as well. Like me, they were most taken with the scene. Taken - the word doesn't do the feeling justice; I know that the moment I saw the tiny, perfect twinkling lights my spirit soared and I felt that magic had returned to the world in all its primal glory; demure, comforting but vast and mighty, a force of nature biding its time, awaiting its moment. This is what we are (or at the very least this is what we can be): beacons of light in the darkness.

I have always loved light, the play of shadows, the sense of mystery and illusion. The stars had fallen to earth, only to be swept up again into the vault of the heavens, waymarkers to guide us all safely home to those we love.