©
fullmoon-unicorn:

the starry sky on the himalayas
laughing-trees:

If Andromeda were brighter, this is how it would look in our night sky. They’re all out there, we just can’t see them
Distance to Earth: 2,538,000 light years


holy
Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia by night

"When the night comes, the starry sky reflects on its surface like in a mirror, and you have the feeling of being in space."

(Source: tsumetaiyozora, via seafoamchild)

A STORY

There was a girl who knew the sky. Each night, she sat and waited for moonrise, counting the seconds on her blood-drained knuckles. Tap by tap. When the stars appeared she blessed Orion upon each bony shoulder and whispered her wishes one by one. She let her eyes traverse the milky map, pausing along the way to visit with a little bear or a wounded centaur. As she peered into the depths the bright orbs in her face deepened as well. They shimmered with a luster full of glitter and shine and silence.

She made her excursion night after night, letting herself slip in and out amongst the celestial currents.

She sat on a patch of grass and wandered her star paths, wishing her wishes, deepening her eyes – hardly noticing the dirt that made indents in her ghostly palms.

One night in particular she sat upon her hill and a boy approached her hesitantly.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Swimming the sky,” she replied. She felt a loss as she spoke, and bid the boy to leave her.

This was the night she realized that she was a broken girl.

Shimmering shards of her had been breaking off for years, and the stars she gazed upon were the crushed-diamond remnants of her being.

She turned her moonstone eyes back to the sky and questioned it.

Why have you betrayed me? she begged of it. I have done nothing but love you. I have been kind to your paths and your creatures and yet you have taken from me.

The girl wept for the shine she had lost. But she remained under the astral canopy. She might as well gaze upon the causalities of her soul.

The next night the boy returned. From a distance he looked upon her fragile frame, vertebrae protruding from the white linen of her nightgown, and fell in love with each bone. He memorized the distance between her shoulder blades and watched with joy as they sliced the night air. His eyes appraised the stars he was sure she had glimmering just beneath her skin.

He returned night after night and made his way closer each time.

On the night of the lunar eclipse he sat himself next to her and his cold fingers slowly found hers.

The dark took over and the shine escaped from the moonstones embedded in her face. She turned towards him, her atoms screaming in protest. But his prevailed; his lips found the pink of hers and her carapace lifted.

And the newly returned stars above glittered brighter than ever.

How funny, she thought.

How funny, he thought.

The stars, they shine for us.


by Mariel Fechik, “A Story”

Halley Research Station, Antarctica


OH MY GOD

This is not the ancient hymnal that we sing in reverence. That would be a mockery. From all of the ferns in the primordial landscape to the sharp-boned fossil swimming in the soup, we’ve taken signs of tilt-shifted galaxies exploding into being. So no, this is not the hymn.

The hymn is the eyes on their first sunrise; the hymn is the first close-eyed smile after lips touch; the hymn is brisk-eyed savage running through wet grass; the hymn is the sepia hearts of mountains; the hymn is fire-lit dimness; the hymn is calluses on soft skin.

The solitary hum of the universe does not stop and listen for congregated voices bequeathing their devotion. Rather it absorbs. It soaks and soaks until it cannot hold anymore and it explodes again, showering us with stardust.


by Mariel Fechik, “Big Bang”
A Story

There was a girl who knew the sky. Each night, she sat and waited for moonrise, counting the seconds on her blood-drained knuckles. Tap by tap. When the stars appeared she blessed Orion upon each bony shoulder and whispered her wishes one by one. She let her eyes traverse the milky map, pausing along the way to visit with a little bear or a wounded centaur. As she peered into the depths the bright orbs in her face deepened as well. They shimmered with a luster full of glitter and shine and silence.

She made her excursion night after night, letting herself slip in and out amongst the celestial currents.

She sat on a patch of grass and wandered her star paths, wishing her wishes, deepening her eyes – hardly noticing the dirt that made indents in her ghostly palms.

One night in particular she sat upon her hill and a boy approached her hesitantly.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Swimming the sky,” she replied. She felt a loss as she spoke, and bid the boy to leave her.

This was the night she realized that she was a broken girl.

Shimmering shards of her had been breaking off for years, and the stars she gazed upon were the crushed-diamond remnants of her being.

She turned her moonstone eyes back to the sky and questioned it.

Why have you betrayed me?she begged of it. I have done nothing but love you. I have been kind to your paths and your creatures and yet you have taken from me.

The girl wept for the shine she had lost. But she remained under the astral canopy. She might as well gaze upon the causalities of her soul.

The next night the boy returned. From a distance he looked upon her fragile frame, vertebrate protruding from the white linen of her nightgown, and fell in love with each bone. He memorized the distance between her shoulder blades and watched with joy as they sliced the night air. His eyes appraised the stars he was sure she had glimmering just beneath her skin.

He returned night after night and made his way closer each time.

On the night of the lunar eclipse he sat himself next to her and his cold fingers slowly found hers.

The dark took over and the shine escaped from the moonstones embedded in her face. She turned towards him, her atoms screaming in protest. But his prevailed; his lips found the pink of hers and her carapace lifted.

And the newly returned stars above glittered brighter than ever.

How funny, she thought.

How funny, he thought.

The stars, they shine for us.

astronomicalwonders:

The Perseus Cluster of Galaxies
There should be stars for great wars
like ours.
by Sanda Cisneros
alicexz:

Commissioned artwork for an album cover. Quite calming to paint!