If we are such rare comic dust, why bother changing partners?

There are moments when I believe that the reason why I endure life with my husband is our cosmic insignificance in  a starry night sky. Not that this kind of sky abounds in contemporary civilized latitudes, though isolated star-gazing apt spots still remain on, say, the Julier pass on the way to St. Moritz, or the Tramuntana range in Mallorca, where you can contemplate the civilized sky as it appeared  30 or 40 years ago unless a full moon is raining on your parade.

Perhaps cosmic significance, not insignificance, is a better way of putting it.  If we are such tiny, brief,  lively dust in the  dead quiet of the universe, why waste time with the pain of such trite trivia as changing partners? Any non-malicious, decently healthy person will do, really. If that is exactly what you are stuck with,  shouldn’t you be thanking your lucky star? And if this is proving too Madre Teresa for mere mortals, isn’t it time to take a hike to one of those starry sky places with cowbells or sheep bells for nightlife entertainment?

[A sobering base from where to contemplate the Julier pass night sky: La Veduta, a parallel universe away from nearby bubbly St. Moritz.]

[An equally mystical epiphany in far more comfortable surroundings: Albellons Parc Natural in the Tramuntana range, Island of Mallorca, Spain.]


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