If a flea paused in his epic journey through
the weave of the homespun trews of an ale-sodden
Hebrides husbandman, and bent its thoughts on the
grand design of the cloth, striving to grasp not just
the mechanics of the warp and weft of the loom,
but the overarching vision of the weaver, would
you be surprised?

If a single note in a symphony, battered and whirled
by woodwinds and violins, paused for a heartbeat
to consider and assemble a vision, not just of
the entire piece of music, but the conductor and
composer behind the oeuvre, would that raise an
eyebrow?

Yet, astronomers, the carbon of their cellular
structures the product of some helpless exploding star
aeons ago, look out upon the entire cosmos, and ponder:
niggling away at countless points of light, in
search of a reason for every detail of its component
weave of light and sound; every aspect of its overall
structure bent by their basilisk gaze. All the while,
swept along willy-nilly on a tiny dust-mote planet,
scorched by an incandescent sun, gnawing on other
carbon life-forms for their sustenance, and quenching
their thirst with dihydrogen monoxide and knowledge
(and maybe beer as well).

The cosmos, looking down on this, can only gasp in
amazement at the unmitigated intrepidity, the
sheer audacity, of these tiny beings and their
grandiose goals and dreams. And that courage, that
vision, in a nutshell, is astronomy.

— G. P. Orris

Dwarf galaxy NGC 1569 image credit: NASA/Hubble

Our Earthly Flight
By  W. Carl Rufus

Our Earth is like a transport plane,
That carries wealth surpassing gold.
It trafficks not for paltry gain:
Its cargoes are not bought nor sold.

It holds its course around the sun;
Nor rolls, nor banks, nor stalls, nor spins.
Its yearly flight is never done;
When winter ends, the spring begins.

At eighteen-miles-per-second speed
Without an instrument in sight,
No stick to hold, no maps to read,
It travels on by day and night.

It bears a load of human freight;
From birth to death, men come and go.
They live and love, they toil and hate,
For good or ill, for weal or woe.

A billion walk its crowded ways:
And billions sleep beneath its sod.
But souls are safe through stormy days:
The unseen Pilot’s name is God.

Image credit: NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center.

“Stars”
by Valerie Worth

While we
Know they are
Enormous suns,
Gold lashing
Fire-oceans,
Seas of heavy silver flame,

They look as
Though they could
Be swept
Down, and heaped,
Cold crystal
Sparks, in one
Cupped palm.

In starry skies, long years ago,
I found my Science. Heart aglow
I watched each night unfold a maze
Of mystic suns and worlds ablaze,
That spoke: “Know us and wiser grow.”

And with each season’s ebb and flow,
My soul, with faltering steps and slow,
Still wanders up far-glimmering ways
In starry skies.

Nor do I heed Life’s gaudy show,
But onward, upward I shall go,
Until new star-lands meet my gaze,
And where, perhaps in after-days,
I’ll learn the things I long to know
In starry skies.

–Sterling Bunch

Ground-based image of Orion, Canis Minor and Canis Major [Credit: Akira Fujii]

He dances upright
All the way to the west
And never once drops
On his forefeet to rest.

I’m a poor underdog,
But to-night I will bark
With the great Overdog
That romps through the dark.

–Robert Frost