Today, Venus passed between the sun and Earth, becoming visible to the naked eye. It won’t happen again for over a hundred years more, but when it does, it will come at precisely its appointed time, for another few precious hours.
Today, though, was unlike any other time it has touched us.
Watch. Look closely. Close your eyes just a little. It was the briefest of instants, but you can still see, if you’re willing, if you look just hard enough.
You can still see, just for a moment, the silhouette of a silver ship.
It’s a ship that carries horror and heartbreak and sorrow, but overpowering any of those, it carries hope and and strength and the knowledge that laughter will always crush down the darkness into dust. It carries faith in all of us, in what we have done so far, and what we will strive and go on to do.
And if you look closely enough, if you close your eyes just enough that the brilliant light focuses for the slightest of moments on the window set at the front, you will be able to see the pilot, and you will watch as the old man sheds years away, shrugs them off like a heavy blanket, becoming a boy that knows nothing but the never-ending sweetness of summer grass, summers that last forever to a child, pushed only briefly away for the sweetness of Christmas and the wild, wonderful fervor of Halloween.
You’ll see the pilot as the years fall away, turn to a sigh and are gone.