As the last light fades from the western sky, people: Talking, laughing; a hundred, a thousand, a million people on beaches, blankets, patches of grass, on rivers, in boats, near lakes, on the sandy sides of dunes. People talk and laugh and wait.
They are young, and they are elderly. They are strange and hopeless with their millions of thoughts and worries and fears and fights, grievances and hopes, tears, and relationships. The children laugh and cry. They stare at the faces around them. They eat and nap. They have more immediate thoughts, more immediate worries, more immediate hopes and fights and relationships. They watch the faces and listen to the inflection, and they learn how to be more complicated.
But then there is a sound. Loud, filling the sky up like a stadium. A single trail of light ascends from the bottom of the sky. It carries up and up. All the faces follow it’s progress until, with a sudden burst, it is a fiery flower of explosion and dynamic.
And every face is turned upward, every eye is wide.
No fights, no worries, no grievances, no hopes, no thoughts, no fears. Only one relationship:
A world full of children, raptly looking up.