Stranded And Bereft

From an Astronaut's Journal I see the sky stretch its arms far passed the contours of its confinement. They penetrate the outer space which is my confinement for whole seasons. If this were earth, I would be witnessing a natural miracle. Stranded on this alien world, I can't tell if it is miracle or routine. What if a miracle for me is a tedious fact of this place? Am I so divided from any connection to this planet? Can I ever close the gap between us? Earth is the Long-Ago for me, I have no credible time frame. Oh, the beauty of earth stung me as it receded behind me in a paroxsym of speed, myself hurled into deep space. We scoff at the psychological training at the Space Academy, eager to be free. We were fully matured human beings, no longer tied to nature. How arrogantly we severed ourselves from the sea of feelings, the tides of emotion, the swelling of thr heart. Even now the old language, the poetry rushes into a mind purged for cognition. There is an owl-like bird native here. I hear his mournful cry cut through the descending clouds as sunlight dims. Before they smother me, and deepen my aloneness, I listen for him. Is he protesting the deeper darkness, or is his song just an event parallel to nightfall? I want to see the owl's fierce red eyes illuime this darkness, make it light to my touch, weightless to my sight. I want to be reborn as a child to this place. I want to assume my place in this nature....