Stars

It is Sunday, 5:30 a.m. I wake, still half in dreams, half in fog. I choose not to stay. I step onto my bike and ride out of the city.

At first it’s only motion—the hum of the tires, my breath, the rush of air in my ears. Then I see it, almost by accident: the sky above me.

Clear. Wide. Full of stars.

I can hardly believe it. Here, in Germany. Not South Africa, not the desert, not the mountains—just outside my own door.

It isn’t the Milky Way, but it is the same sky. Dark blue, pierced with light.

The air is cold. In the distance, a few cars. Houses lit by warm streetlamps, framed by trees and horizon. And above it all, the stars.

I have nothing to say. Nothing to want. Inside, something grows quiet. Deeply quiet.

When I return home, the house is still asleep. But the moment stays. It has become part of me.

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