I'm sitting on the deck of a cabin in the mountains, on a combination writing/girlfriend getaway. Away from my typical city haunts, tonight I get to see the stars come out--or, in the case of this particular location, at this particular time, one star. One very bright, stationary star.
At first I think it can't be a celestial body; too bright not to be manmade. But it's high up, and not moving, and so I'm now convinced it's just one powerful star. And I can't stop looking at it.
That one powerful star makes me wonder how many other things am I not noticing in my temporary environment because I'm captivated by the strongest glimmer. Close my eyes: I hear the frogs and the crickets, and the ever-so-faint after dinner conversation of the house next door. Open them again, and zam--I'm captivated again by the star. The crickets fade. The star is kinda the only thing I can see right now. Even the other stars seem hesitant to show up.
How many times have I been blocked from seeing the whole picture because I'm drawn to one powerful star? Or, how many times has one powerful star--at work, among friends, in life--really held my attention and distracted me from all the other things that aren't as important? It's fascinating that it's not all the little stars that are making their mark--it's the one, powerful, shining one that forces me to think.
I wish I may, I wish I might--how do I serve as one powerful star in my own right?
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