I sit alone on the rocks outside my front door. It’s been a hard year for me. I stare at the lights shining in the night sky. The brightest star in the heavens catches my attention. It winks and moves slightly upward before falling toward the earth. It lands and I have no inkling where.
I am the oldest of seven sons. My family struggles to scratch out a living on our small farm. With all those mouths to feed I offered to strike out on my own. My father and mother pled for me to stay but I stood resolute in my course. “I must do this, for the good of all,” I said. “I am of age and I must stand on my own.”
My folks had nothing to offer me for a down payment on good farmland. But if they had possessed the money they could have purchased land for themselves and perhaps I’d live with them still. And so, I left. Upon discovering rock-strewn land no one else deemed useful, I worked it and by the sweat of my brow, I cleared it and piled the stones where I now sit. I nursed my fields compelling them to produce a crop I could sell.
The first year, my farm yielded ample produce for my needs with enough left to build a little, but charming, cottage. I smiled at my good fortune. The next year I cleared more land which produced a larger yield than the year before. I added livestock to my holdings. I became the envy of those who had overlooked the acres I now own.
I met a pretty maid in the nearest town and after a proper courtship she agreed to marry me in the summer of the following year. I made friends and shared in their labors. In turn, they assisted me as I cleared even more land and built on to my cottage in preparation for my wedding.
As the third year began, I rode high on my hopes and dreams, when disaster struck. A dry wind drove away the rains of the growing season. My fields dried up as did those of my neighbors. The water in my well turned to dust. When lightning struck, I had nothing with which to fight the blaze that consumed my cottage. I burned my face and hands fighting the fire. Wild animals drove away my livestock.
My wounds healed but left me with a hideous countenance. My betrothed refused to look on my face. She broke off our engagement. My friends turned on me demanding I repay them for their labor on my behalf, despite the fact I had assisted them in time past. They seized my fields in payment, leaving me the ruins of my cottage and the pile of rocks.
And so, as the year closes, I sit alone shivering in the cold air on my rock heap watching the night sky. I search for the brightest one and wish for my good fortune to return. Each night, this singular light is my certainty. And night after night, I make my wish.
When the star falls, so does my heart. It has been my one comfort. Night after night, I took solace in its light and now it is gone. I return to the lonely hut that stands in place of my pleasant cottage. The crude, but snug shelter protects me from the bitter wind. I light a fire to fend off the chill.
The following night I return to my perch on the rocks. I search the star littered sky for the one I called my own. It has not returned. I think to search for where it had fallen, but realize the futility in this. I am about to return to my hut when I sense a presence near me. I call out “Who’s there?” Silence. However, the presence appears to draw closer, and I realize I am not alone. For some strange reason I have no fear.
For several succeeding nights I return to my place on the rocks. The presence returns also. I am not alarmed. The presence comes nearer until I make out a form wrapped in shadow. Again, I call out. “You are welcome to share my rock pile, but who are you?”
I hear a soft feminine voice. “A friend.”
I feel compelled to tell her my woes and spend the rest of the evening watching the night sky with my unseen friend.
The following night I return and so has my friend. She comes close enough that I can see her form and face illuminated in the starlight. I am unable to describe her beauty and try to hide my hideous countenance from her. I speak. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
She does not answer and instead comes closer. I forbid her. “Stay. Fair maiden,” I say. “I am disfigured, hideous to look upon.”
She stops and we resume gazing at the star speckled sky.
Many nights thereafter we meet under the night sky. Each night my friend seeks to come close enough to touch me. Each night I bid her to remain.
At Winter’s end we meet once again under the stars. My friend again reaches out to me. Again, I ask, “Who are you? From where have you come?”
This time she answers. She raises her fair hand towards the heavens. “I am the one on which you wished. I have watched you during all your trials. I wept for you. I have come to change your fortune.” She raises her fair hand towards the heavens. “Come with me to my home.”
This time when she comes closer I do not stop her. She touches my face. It tingles. I feel it with my fingers. The scars have disappeared. The fair maiden begins to glow and reaches out her hand toward mine. I hold it back, but then slowly place it in hers. Her glow overwhelms me and together we rise and take our place among the stars where we continue to shine.