From the first people who ever sat around the first bonfire, safe in their rocky shelters, after eating and drinking, they told of their adventures of the day, and the heavens heard, taking the words, setting them alight, and flinging them far into the night sky.
Seeing that man gathered in this was a nightly ritual, the heavens came back every night to gather the words and sayings of the people, and made more light, carefully placing all they spoke into the stars, arranging them in pinwheel clusters and spinning them slowly with ponderous cosmic winds.
The stars spun and spun, getting warmer, shining brighter, and drawing closer together against the freezing clime of the infinite sky.
The heat they shared among themselves increased, and they began to hiss and spark as the speed increased, turning slowly into fire, looking for more stories to consume.
Now they light the night sky, and in so doing have stoked the fires of humanity’s imagination: How did they get up there? Why do they shine so bright?
And they made deities of the clusters, used them to mark the day and seasons, and when they set out to sea, used them again to get their boats and ships safely home, and told their children to wish on them when the lights could no longer stay in the sky, and their wishes would be granted.
As we continue to tell our stories, the stars blaze and fade until the tales consume them, and they fall.
But every story told lights another one anew.