Orion

You, Orion, work as a clock, touching the eastern sky as the last throws of purple are bewitched to blackness. Never mind these skelaton oaks reaching out to shield the earth from your beauty. They too will freeze along with this ground and pass with the contant ticking of time. Nevermind them, for your path was set in motion long ago.

Answer me this though: how is it that you never grow tired of your destiny? Each night you move across the dark winter sky like a ticker tape on a blue mass set in heavy rotation. Every morning you move into latency, welcoming the daybreak; welcoming the time when your feet touch the deep blueness of the sea on the western horizon. Just look at you. Placed by God as dynamic sculpture in the stars, given life by human imagination.

Orion, do you see me among these oaks? Do you watch me on the earth night after night as I stare back at you wide eyed, transfixed by the flickering planes cutting across your sky? Oh Orion, these are hard times for dreamers, but you inspire me in your path as a constant, never wavering. I envy your resignation. The night’s bitterness is lost on you.