A man forgotten by history wonders the night away...
A man dressed in robes stands but a silhouette a top a hill. He steps out from under the cover of an oak and lifts his kind, wrinkled face to the speckled heavens far beyond his reach. A small smile touches his lips briefly as he finds Orion's Belt and he wonders how many others have stood in this spot and gazed at the mysterious lights twinkling above.
It is a quiet night, not even the breeze rustles the leaves or the grass in the glade below. He contemplates his life up to this point in time and space, whether the decisions he's made were correct morally. He gives little care to politics. What decisions is he yet to make, what road will he travel and where that path will take him. He asks himself these things for which he has no answer. He ponders if the mark he'll leave will be deep enough to withstand the sands of time or like so many before him and so many after, his existence will be no more significant then the blades of grass on which he stands.
But, he questions, do any of us really leave a mark on the heavens? Not the heavens the priest preaches, but the place high above so unattainable for man. The places that contain unparalleled beauty and wonder. It is strange for him to think that after all the glorious humans are long dead, the last of their monuments turned to dust and the sun burns it's self out, the rest of the universe will continue, not taking notice as a single light winks out.
He lowers his gaze to the horizon as the stars dissolve into the sky. Another day has dawned, and another old fool has wasted the night.