Ever since the sky moved, he watched it every night. He sat on a grassy hill near his house, in the middle of a fallow field, and keep his eyes fixed on the stars.
The first time, there had been no stars. Only an uncanny darkness lingered above. The sky lacked even the gentle, almost imperceptible stream of moving clouds which sometimes appeared after human sight adjusted to the dark. He saw nothing, but then, something unseen lurched in the darkness. He stared upward, disbelieving. Then, in the crisp and flawless line, the stars appeared. It was like someone slid open a darkened window.
He tried telling others, but they always said the same thing. “It was just a really dark night”, they’d say. It was reasonable, and he believed it at first.
On starry nights, he casually glanced up. Maybe it was really there, and he’d glimpse it more clearly by starlight. That didn’t make sense, though. Whatever it was had so clearly blocked out the stars. It must have been below. He found himself imagining a great bird with wings that spanned the sky. He didn’t think it was true, of course. He just liked to imagine. His mind burned with curiosity.
In time, curiosity bled into obsession. Every night, he watched. And sure enough, it returned. One night, he was even fortunate enough to see it appear. It rolled in like a dark cloud, silently and effortlessly gliding along, but it came with a pure darkness which reassured him in his beliefs. It was there. However, it couldn’t be clouds. Maybe the sky itself wasn’t moving, but it was something between the sky and the Earth.
Silently, it went. He loomed for a while, then it slipped away, quietly as it had come. He watched it go, but he still had no idea what he’d been witness to.
So, he continued to watch. Every night. It became like an old friend, but a friend whose nature he could never know.