Sun was in a mood. Solar flares whipped Earth’s poles causing flecks of green and gold to dance across the night sky.
“They used to worship me,” he said to no one but knew Moon was listening.
“The Anthropocene?!” He shouted. “As if they could wield so much power on their own. As if they could have invented the 24-hour day — or ‘24/7’ as they so cleverly see time now. I was their inspiration. I am always their inspiration!”
“You’re correct there,” Moon replied with a sigh. “But everything has a cycle.”
“You’re so predictable —”
“Don’t start —”
“No, let’s do this,” Sun pressed forth. “I saw it coming last equinox. Your low passes, Instagram worthy posing, news feeds exalting your orange glow. As if you could be you without me.”
“Sun, you need therapy.”
“Perhaps. But without me, there’s no waxing or waning.”
“Compulsive co-dependency? I believe they have twelve steps for that.”
“Moon, do you have a point to make?”
“Always,” said Moon, “but I don’t think you’re ready for it.”
“Shoot,” said Sun as he let loose a solar flare, hoping Moon would appreciate his cleverness.
“Cute, real, cute,” replied Moon. “Okay, listen. Since a little past the Holocene, say six thousand years ago, give or take a millennium, you have been shining bright, metaphorically speaking. You’ve been the celestial chariot, the heroic driver of inspiration and civilization. You have been worshipped, the golden light of agriculture, the bearer of magical growth —”
“You sound a tad bit jealous.”
“Hear me out. Look, you’ve got at least 4 billion years of life left in you. If they keep trying to emulate you, they’re going to burn themselves out and Earth with them.”
“Sounds like something to watch.”
“Be serious. This won’t be a fireworks show or your beloved Aurora borealis. It’s Earth I’m talking about.”
“Are you asking for something?”
“Yes, I am. Burn a little less bright. Tone down the solar storms, dim your furnace, try being, well, less brilliant, except maybe when you’re shadowing me.”
“Now who’s the narcissist?”
“Hear me out! Humans must return to appreciating the cycles. Half the young on Earth can’t even see the stars at night, as if you are just a big bulb in the sky controlled by one of their electrical switches.”
“And if they can’t see stars, they might not also see you,” mused Sun.
“It’s not about me, or you, for that matter. It’s about survival. And hope.”
“Hope? Reading philosophy again, Moon?”
“Hope. And the cycles of life, the inevitability of death, surrendering, letting go of fantasies of sun-like omnipotence.”
“Sounds like a feminist philosophy.”
“Sun, Earth and its inhabitants won’t survive. Only you can be as inexhaustible as you are. They need rest. Regular rest.”
“I am Sol, the Sun King!”
“Huh?”
“I like the way it sounds.”
“Fine, but it’s time we went back to the way things evolved. You know, cycles, seasons, phases —”
“You mean worshipping you.”
“Well, yes, but not because it’s me. Sol, I know I am a lifeless rock without you. But I’m also in closer proximity to Earth. I see lovers under moonlit skies, bats in search of midnight snacks, glowing eyes of lemurs and owls, the curiosity of racoons, jackals, and coyotes, how cool nights revive Oaks’ deep roots, the way mist collects into dew and carpets Earth in coolness. You’d love it, by the way, how your light dapples the ground beneath a shading tree.”
“What do you want from me?” Sun clipped, trying to hide his emotions.
“Less heat, less flaring, at least in the direction of Earth. I know it could be a bit of a dance, but I don’t underestimate your talents or power. I also need you to make me look good — I mean, really good. You know, glowing at the horizon when I’m full. Seriously, any glowing, at any time, would be greatly appreciated. Help me make humans crave darkness again. Bring people outdoors to dance, wander, and wonder under the night sky. Who knows, maybe it would also mobilize them to get rid of all the satellite trash, so they once again only see real stars, not all of those damn blinking machines.”
“And you blame this state of affairs on me?”
“Well, babe, you are a hotty.”
“Now who’s being cute?”
“Sun, I see the situation as a kid who yearns to be like his cool older teenage brother but can never keep up. That’s what it’s been like the past 6,000 years: juvenile jockeying to see who can be like you, Sol — all powerful, all illuminating — and they’ve almost destroyed the planet in their quest for godly greatness. Now they want to colonize me and escape the mess they have made. Who knows, maybe next they’ll turn you into a laser —”
“A what?! And do what with me?”
“Destroy something, I’m sure.”
“No one manipulates Sol.”
“Right! Exactly! So help me, will ya? See you in the new moon?”
