Turbine

Cold, the wind, my turbine screeches.

And from the blades, cut through dark night I fear the metal will slice apart the stars.

They are so close, I watch them tremble, each hiding behind the next, hovering closer together. Yet the whips go round and round, the speed and strength is threatening, demanding.

It's so crowded up there. I wonder how it is they manage to keep each other safe. So tiny. The wind is not always so friendly, it can be temperamental, I tell them. But that turbine is another thing, it sweeps and hurls and furls through the darkness, so close to the little stars. The fearful stars.

I wonder how they would bleed. I wonder how they would cry. Would I be able to hear them? The little whimpers. But they are safe, they keep each other tight.

Sometimes its not enough though. Some of the little stars get so frightened, I see, and they jet out away from their brothers and sisters into darker spaces of the night. Some of the little ones flee, I do not know where they go, I tell them.

So I watch and wait, wondering how many more inches does my turbine need to reach the stars.