False Start #33
I no longer worry about the ending of the sun.
When the solar system’s radiator blows a gasket, if there still are people on this rock of ours, I’m sure that they will be all to ready for it, having chosen from long ago to remain for the cosmic fireworks.
They will accept their fates with a kind of nobility, savoring those few seconds of brightness before a shockwave sends them to oblivion.
I know this feeling all to well. This is what its like to be a poet, witnessing the beauty of the universe from afar, even as it comes at you with tremendous speed to remove you from it.