A Strumming Star

She walked across a green field, covered in the fluffy weeds that you make wishes on; the sky hazy with streaks of yellow and pink painted across the evening canvas.  You could find the teen there daily.  Sitting in the solitude, the only sound that drifted through the cool, breezy air was the pleasant sound of her delicate fingers strumming the little, cream colored guitar, the girl’s clear, sweet voice accompanied the tune.  She wore a white shirt with sleeves that reached her elbows, with faded blue jeans, lavender flats, and her brunette hair pulled up into a loose bun atop her head.  She was a lovely sight.  Her legs were crossed; the instrument was cradled under her arm, and her warm brown eyes were closed lightly.  Her face was pointed to the sky as she breathed in the crisp air.  She sang her heart out, the song flowed from her small lips, and she wore a peaceful, contented expression.

She was her own crowd, but her audience was the universe.  She would stay there, singing and playing, till long past twilight.  The stars would peep out, one by one, from their curtain of blue velvet.  Every second another seemed to appear, listening, smiling down on the innocent creature, a picture of humble beauty and grace.  They would shyly choose their partners and dance for hours on end, all through the night and into the wee hours of the morning when the stars waved to the guitarist in farewell.  The dew would fall, the sun would slowly rise on the horizon, and she would sing the last stanza.  Strum the final note. And stand to leave.  Leave for now, but she would return.  Tonight she would once again begin the same ritual, sing the same songs, strum the same notes, and the stars, once again, would pair up and dance the night away…