Footprints on the Sun

I opened my eyes on the morning of January first and walked past the horizon and right onto the sun.

Looking back over ninety-three million miles, I was surprised to see the world from this new perspective. In that moment of awe, imagine my face when the sun spoke (and for those who must know, he has a deep but soft voice- much like the sound of a tuba that sings). "Not what you expected, is it?" Came the voice from a thousand flames. You (yes, YOU) look like little suns against a greenish-bluish sky.

I walked along the boiling ground quite naturally looking for my home among these stars that shone. Just before my continent turned over it its sleep however, I saw a strange light; it glowed every colour you can imagine but it wasn't in a man- I found it in a dog's heart. Another one shone so bright that it lit up the ones around it- this one was a child. I saw one more before I found my home: This was a man with his shine struggling to stay light (much like a candle in the wind). I saw in his heart a record of lights he had put off, and of countless others he had stolen colour from. No shine was in his eyes when his light was taken from him.

Finally I saw my home with six little lights. A smile stretched my face when I saw that each of those lights had a piece of the next within it and that together they shone more brightly than if they were alone, however great the distance in between. A little farther off I noticed a beautiful thing happening; there was a bright and beautiful light increasing ever so slowly in brilliance. The strangest thing though is that for every light that passed, the brilliant light gave some of her own and yet never lost hers but grew with every giving. The big light was a woman with her death at her side (don't worry she knew, and so did her heart) yet she shone brightly on. Even when she danced away to forever, little bits of her shine bounced around in the pockets of those other little lights that had crossed her path- forever alive as a light within lights.

Eventually the sun brought me back, and tapped on my shoulder as my foot reluctantly touched the horizon:

"Be careful how you shine, and never where you do. My light is for you to see, but yours for you to live- you, and every other little bright light."

A greenish-bluish sky with six billion lights. I wonder how yours shines, after you've left your footprints on the sun.