Here I stand in the shade on this glorious spring day, sunlight dancing through the trees, as I watch my little boy darting along the edge of the pond. With eager hands, he dips his hoop into the frothy soap suds swirling in his bucket. A quick flick of his wrist sends the magic wand slicing through the air, and like magic, a shimmering, colossal bubble takes shape. It floats free, glistening in the golden light, and begins its graceful ascent into the endless blue above.
Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, before the Earth knew ships, before the heavens were mapped, a star was born. It blazed into being with a brilliance so pure, so white, it seemed stitched from the fabric of creation itself. Its light surged outward in every direction, untouched by time.
Meanwhile, on a blue planet tucked within a spiral arm of the Milky Way, a young adventurer named Columbia — “Just Columbia,” she insisted — stood before the queen.