Rampant starlight—like profligate tinsel—luxuriating in its own radiance. Infinitely shameless, proud, self-conscious, the stars are like humans used to be.
Humans built towers, ploughed fields, break wilderness into cities, wrote symphonies with their fingers, invented the subway. But somewhere they lost their pride. It flew out the window at miles per hour, striking passerby and rising, rising, to fall madly in love with the Heavens. The theme music of humanity was broken—shattered into one billion pieces.
And did they care? No. They had gained their shame. They knew, and that was enough. Free will with costly knowledge, that was their consequence. Now we wander in pathless desert-land, wandering for our home—the home of our minds. And all we can do is look to the stars and admire their brilliance.