The ocean pulls forward and back in a rhythmic motion, lying beneath a spectacular sunset. We marvel at the sight of the setting sun, leaving traces of pink and gold along the clouds, tracing its paint-brushed fingers along the sky. We are warm and at rest, sitting together on a beach towel.
It feels like a distant memory, but certainly no dream. The kind wreathed in magic, overwhelming with colors unable to be grasped by open eyes. A perfect masterpiece. A masterpiece that moves.
The clouds part, revealing a great ship sent from the stars, unmistakable as non-human. For only a tender moment, before the clouds knit back together and it leaves no trace.
No fear is felt, not a tear spent on terror. After all, how could something that beautiful, so advanced and brilliant, hurt us? It is as though they had merely paused on an intergalactic journey to admire the sunset just as we.
“The star people are here,” my grandmother whispers. Her tear holds a reflection of the sky.
I awake and am forever changed.
Could we be?
Could we become?
Could we inspire like these star-gazing giants?
Should we hope to?
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