The natural black hugs the starlight as a mother to her newborn.
The darker the night, the brighter the stars. Should there ever be cloud to hide them, they still shine. Perhaps that's why I love the starlight, for it comes not in the ease of the day, but when without it there would only be blackness for the eyes.
Stars light the sky like snow-flakes in the night, yet appear still, like an old photograph. Jessie smiles, feeling the wind blow her hair into a tousled mane. Were she out there in space, riding the limits of the known universe, they would be a choreographed blizzard. How the stars would move, the galaxies tumble and dart. But for now, with her arms around the branch of a windswept tree and her head leaning gently on the bark, the starlight kept its familiar pattern. The constellations, who'd witnessed centuries and millennia just the same, watched over this tiny moment.
Starlight draws my eyes heaven-bound; the white-light shining all the brighter for the blackness around. With feet on rock below, I soar into the galaxy, to be the warmth where there is none. I shine as the stars do, giving light and hope into the void - no longer passive receiver, yet destined to be a giver.
This mid-winter's eve the starlight is a chorus, singing of times long ago in galaxies unknown. I hear it as a melody, as if the stars were perfect notes on an inky sky. It is music for the eyes enough to warm my heart, as if in all this grand arena its steady beat is the drum.
As a mother's blanket to her newborn baby, heaven's black cradles the starlight.