The Star Train

It is 1980, and I am sitting in the picture theatre with two excited young boys, a mystical blend of their Welsh mother and Indian father. They are my charges, and in the darkened room, the smell of popcorn wafting around us, the music begins. Words start to float away from us on the huge screen, already iconic and highly anticipated. Leaving our once plush red seats, we are transported into outer space, enough familiarity to make this real, to identify heroes and the enemy, good and evil. Later, in the brilliant sunshine, we fight with light sabres, we deepen our voices, we build the Death Star. We are hooked.

I am back in the city, 40 years of living separating me from the movie. For once, the cat hasn’t woken me, but it is the witching hour, 4:00 am. My powers are many, but I am not a witch. The scales in the Netherlands, the home of my children’s ancestors, proving that I am without sorcery.

I part the curtains, the still night offering a glimpse of the skies above. I push the windows open hoping to reduce the reflection, and the dank scent of the mudflats rises up. There are thousands of glittering stars, hung for my pleasure. I scan the vastness, looking for movement, a fallen star, a flash of light. I search and scan, scan and search, marvelling at the skyscape at this hour.

And then I see them. Edging from the corner of my window, tracking slowly from the west  towards the horizon. Music starts to play in my mind ... da-da-da duhhh... duhhh... da-da-da duhhhhhh-duh, da-da-da duhhhhhh-duh, da-da-da-daaaaa … I blink.  The lights are automatons, evenly spaced, marching across the sky, casting a path to the east, towards the sunrise. I start to count. There are ten. I count some more - twenty. I rub my eyes, gaze at the sliver of moon … more than 30 now, and still they come. My brain is muddled - here is science, here is objectivity, but here, here is a spectacle, here is a story to tell. Fifty stars dancing, their rhythmic steps strutting across the cosmic stage, me an interloper, absorbing the beauty, the majesty. 

As the light oozes into my room, I google, looking for answers in the great ether. “Musk", I mutter as I read the posts, see my stars there on the page, on YouTube. It’s the Star Link, man made and deliberate, yet so beautiful, so evocative, so transcendental. Desperate to share, to solidify my experience, I write, the awe vanishing as I send my thoughts to the blog. I edit, I revisit, I revise, shaping the story in different ways, hoping to recapture the breath-taking encounter

The magic has followed the dawn, disappearing into the new day, and I am left with a dense, glittering memory..




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