They call him Orion and he hunts the night skies,
Appearing above just as Winter wakes from Summer's heat,
You can see a sword hanging at his belt in the cool nights,
Yet not so many know what it guards,
What drives the hunter to the drawn bow.
A mystery it took Galileo and at least a century to resolve.
Tucked away in that sword sheath,
Orion's nursery - a nebula where new stars are forming,
The fires of creation lend their soft glow to our nights,
Gracing Fall nights with a harvest of new light,
I've always wanted to go there.
The first thing I ever pointed a university telescope at.
By: Daniel A. Stafford
Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to all the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.