Children of the stars

Children of the Stars, by Pamela Dunning; Sharpie Marker Pointillism on Canson XL Mix Media paper

The old woman carefully wiped the child’s tears with her calloused hands, “Now hush, never mind what those others tell you. You’re no different from them.” Her tone softened as the child climbed into her lap. She pointed to the sky, “Look! See those stars? That’s what we’re all made of; stardust and water.”

She settled back into the old rocking chair, child in her lap, “Shall I tell you our story, child?” The child nodded, calmed by the rhythmic lull of the rocker creaking out a faint little song on the loose boards of the porch. “Long ago, before you, before me, before any of this world existed there lived the giants.

Stars just like our Sun, they were some of the first things the Gods created and some, nearing the final stages of their life, were asked by those Gods if they would be catalyst for new life. So those giant old stars gave up their lives and the Angels on high blessed their sacrifice and wept. Everything we see, and a great deal that we can’t, came into being from those tears and stardust. All of us are made from that magical stuff. Don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise…or…at least don’t you believe a word they say if they do. Better yet; you feel sorry for those poor misguided souls because they can’t recognize how beautiful we all are.”

She looked at the child in her lap, “Yes child, we are all beautiful, how can we not be? Shine bright baby, always, for we are the children of the Stars.”

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