Fecund (adjective): fertile, productive

In a hidden valley curtained by mist and fog, there was a river filled with stars. Every minute, it flowed and sparkled with the sound of tinkling wind chimes as pieces and their fragments knocked about. During daytime, the river was transparent, a ribbon of faintly glittering light drifting down the valley. When night came around with its comforting shadows, it unleashed its full celestial glow and gleamed like a parade of heavenly constellations. There was never a shortage of stars; as if the river produced them itself, more and more enriched its waters every day.

And one day, when the sun and moon embraced each other in their mysterious eclipse, a boatman appeared on its shimmering surface. The silhouette was wrapped in a cloak, darker than black, a void of color swallowing the light from his luminescent surroundings. His feet stood upon a gloomy wooden boat and his hands, wispy and formless, clutched a wooden staff that he dipped in and out of the river.

He was harvesting stars.

For every whirl of his ancient staff, a few glimmers vanished from the starry waters and reappeared as an ephemeral burst of light escaping into the sky. The new lights stood still, almost as if reminiscing their planetary home, then whizzed away.

These lights were made of hope.

Harvested by the boatman of eclipses from the river of stars, they headed the hearts and minds of living people. To energize, to rekindle, to birth—they brought light and hope into those minds shrouded in the darkness of grief, rage, jealousy, fear, and beyond.

So, whenever you feel a random burst of hope in a dark and miserable place where only the depths of your mind can go, remember the strange boatman harvesting stars.