Planet

 

Ascending the curving staircase inside his mind, the staircase that puts him that much closer to the heavens, he peers through the telescope of his imagination at Mercury.  It is quite the blackest thing he’s ever seen, if almost imperceptible, before the full face of the sun. Fear is the astronomer’s first instinct. Can anything survive such heat extremes? Will the great blast absorb this morsel at an unknown hour? How does it keep on going year after year? It appears to contain all the finality of a full-stop. Yet continues, like an ellipsis. Turning the lens towards Venus, he is surprised to find it’s saffron. This is not how the planet is pictured in books. He double-checks the telescope’s satnav. Sure, Venus. Who knows, it takes courage to be up at work first thing in the morning. Still up and at it as night falls. Courage to be taken for granted, courage to be misunderstood. Most of what can be said about Venus still hasn’t been written down. Saffron. Tilting the instrument by accident he finds everything’s gone green. All manner of green. Green leaves, green eyes … O! it’s Earth. Growth reproduces growth in such profusion his language proliferates to breaking point. Clouds pure to sight are born to rainbow and to green upon continents where love is spoken of every day. Home. Reascending the whorls of stairs to stare at worlds, the astronomer is reassured by the anger of Mars. His books see red in this regard with tireless consistency. Who is he to argue? It must get exhausting being angry all the time in permanent cycles and for what reason? He wishes Mars would get over its cliché behaviour, but who will stop it? Who wants to go there? Better to turn to the wonder of Jupiter, that keeps red to one corner midst unending bursts and resolutions, firsts and revolutions of yellow. The odd thing about wonders is how words have their limits. What to say? And what to say of mirth-inspiring Saturn, a planet that could float in a bath, leaving a ring? Dazzling white in its dark night of eternal delight, that will never occur. Its humour lies in never standing still. What’s not to like? He pays attention to Saturn’s effortless ability to please. He brightens to its unique distinction. The astronomer however wishes he could avoid Uranus, grey and alone at the edge of the party. Sorrow will try its best to keep up appearances that all the time is an appearance of sorrow. Can anything be done? While Neptune elicits aversion, its bluest blue sunk with stories words deny, music cannot delve, psychology banishes to the end of the ward. Out where the known stares at the unknown for hours, long since empty of questions that could make any sense. Only its tenuous orbit gives some purpose to its baffling solitude. Time to close the telescope and reconnect with green. Or dream anon, when stars come out at night.