There are stars of varying sizes all over the sky. Nestled between are crescent moons, silver, and rose. The stars move, and she follows them with her eyes, waiting to see if they come back.
Day follows night, and night follows day. Comets fly in the distance, firing little puffs of white. Every so often, the stars sing, calling out to her. She reaches for them, and they reach back, dousing her in love and light.
She was but a youngling when she first wandered away. As her home grew smaller behind her, zigzag lines in electric hues snaked across the sky. Then came the big rolling waves of noise, shaking the ground. She knew she had walked too far, so she turned back. And soon came the soft crooning of the stars, pulling her into their warmth.
“What was that noise?” she asked. “Those lights?”
“Hush, darling girl,” they murmured. “We were scared. Never run away like that again.”
Some days, there’s a flurry of activity. She runs, and she flies under the warm, blue skies, and her stars move right along. Her heart beats so fast, she pauses for breath, and before she knows it, twilight beckons. Sweating, thirsty, she walks back home before collapsing into a happy slumber.
There are quiet days too. Not much happens, but she’s used to it. She plays by herself and lies under the sky, keeping an eye out for any signs of movement.
Weeks stumble into each other, and she grows older. No more a sprightly young girl; she likes quieter games. She walks by brooks and mountains, where she comes upon old friends. They tell her their stories, she nods and smiles, and soon it is time to walk home. Her days seem shorter, but she doesn’t mind. Her home is warm, safe, and filled with music…
Up above, stars of varying sizes dot the sky. They blink fiercely, crooning their songs that reach every corner of her mind. “We love you so much,” they sing. “So much, darling girl.”
The dog yawns and stretches her furry back before burrowing into bed. Before long, she’s sleeping, little frame drenched in golden starlight.
And the entire universe that is contained within her eyes ceases to exist.
(Maybe its the PMS talking, but I wanted to write a piece for my dog. She’s 2, beautiful and the fluffiest goofball ever. Also she’s a major busybody who will police any fun you’re having and demand scratches!)