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Stories of the Stars

The love welled up within the man until it pained him to feel it. He stood tall and he stood proud and he looked across the valleys and into the distance, toward the sea and beyond that, to the point where the sea was no more. Centuries flowed through him, the thoughts and plans of a thousand men were his thoughts and plans. Their loves were his loves. Their fears were his fears. Their wondering was his wondering. Their mysteries were those that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.

He looked up at the stars and in them were the secrets of the ancients. The unknowable resided there. Those stars had seen sadness and they had seen joy. They had seen strength and they had seen weakness. They had witnessed every question ever asked, every quandary ever posed.

And suddenly the man felt humbled. He felt powerful and he felt insignificant. He felt large and he felt small. He felt happy and he felt sad. His tears were tears of joy and they were tears of sorrow. For his was a world of such magic, such mystique, such complete and all consuming greatness that he could not hope to answer these questions, nor did he wish to.

He turned to his woman and he held her to his breast. She smelled his beard and pressed her body against his. And as they held one another in the night, the moon smiled down on them and it lighted them in its benevolent glow. They were the lovers of ages gone by. Their hopes were the hopes of ages past. Their dreams had been dreamed before. Their dreams would be dreamed again.

A hundred years on, the same man, perhaps a little taller, a little fairer, a little younger, held his woman and looked up at the stars. And once again, the same stars bore witness to the birth of a vision. It was a vision that had lived in the hearts of a thousand men.

It was a vision that had been visited before and it was a vision that would be visited again.

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