Spheres

Two spheres illuminate the broad-backed sky. One shines just enough to reveal the darkness surrounding it. The other shines too brilliantly to know darkness. All creation owes itself to the guidance offered by them, the two great lights among shadows.

Yet even these two orbs, bright enough to point out the heavens between them, know that one is but a poor reflection of the other. More mirror than majestic light, the sphere that names the night would itself be humbled in darkness if not for the bearer of daylight. Otherwise lost and left no better nor worse than the spaces between stars, the night sphere looks toward the radiance of the light maker. In doing so, all of space may see itself through the black—if it chooses.

Firm and fixed through all time, the spheres keep their perfect place. Nothing lifts itself so high as the creator of light. Just a little lower, among the hidden darkness yet still not part of it, the reflector holds firm. To the true and blinding light, it only proves a redirection of something much, much greater. To eyes that may never look directly upon its source, though, it spans the gap between shuttering still in darkness and seeing any light at all.