There once was a young woman called Allie,
From Green Bay, not far from Fox Valley,
A sophomore at St. Norbert College,
Took 289 for Fairy Tale knowledge,
For in her learning, she would never dawdle nor dally.
A painter and a horse jumper of fences,
Creativity, her brain always dispenses,
She has one lovely younger sister,
And will one day marry a mister,
But until then, lets look at her story’s pretenses.
Being influenced by the sky and her love of art,
Allie knew exactly where she wanted to start,
A poor young girl and her poor dad,
A tale both happy and sad,
Truly a tale that is sure to touch your heart.
And without further ado, I leave it to you:
I finish my final bars,
And give you “Painting the Stars.”
Destiney Norman
From Green Bay, not far from Fox Valley,
A sophomore at St. Norbert College,
Took 289 for Fairy Tale knowledge,
For in her learning, she would never dawdle nor dally.
A painter and a horse jumper of fences,
Creativity, her brain always dispenses,
She has one lovely younger sister,
And will one day marry a mister,
But until then, lets look at her story’s pretenses.
Being influenced by the sky and her love of art,
Allie knew exactly where she wanted to start,
A poor young girl and her poor dad,
A tale both happy and sad,
Truly a tale that is sure to touch your heart.
And without further ado, I leave it to you:
I finish my final bars,
And give you “Painting the Stars.”
Destiney Norman
Painting the stars
By Allie Maier
There once was a young girl named
Lillian who lived with her father in a quaint, little house at the edge of a
wild river. They had a simple life with few neighbors or friends, but they were
happy and enjoyed living independently. Despite their struggle through poverty,
they managed to grow their own food in a large field just beside the edge of a
forest. There were stories of malicious creatures that roamed the woods and
Lillian was warned by her father to never wander off.
Lillian, named in memory of a beautiful flower, loved to venture to the field beside the edge of the forest and care for her prized possession— a garden. It was mostly filled with daffodils, sunflowers, marigolds, and yellow peonies, for she imagined the small plot of land looked like the sun with so many golden flowers in it. Once they blossomed, Lillian would set up an easel outside and paint her fragile flowers with only a slim brush and a single tube of yellow paint.
One night a tragic thunderstorm blew across the family’s property threatening to blow the house over. The wind howled as heavy raindrops tried to seep in through the ceiling. Lightning flashed in the sky and little Lillian shook with fear on her father’s lap.
“When will the sun come out?” cried Lillian, “I’m worried all of my flowers might drown!”
Her father consoled her, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair beside the fire, “There, there, my little Lilly. Your flowers will be fine. A little water never hurt anybody – maybe they’re just taking a bath.”
Lillian glanced up with wide eyes, looking for reassurance, “You think?”
“Aw, sure. Maybe they want to look all nice and clean for you in the morning. Their colors will be so bright and golden tomorrow, you’ll just have to paint the sun itself!”
Lillian laughed with delight and envisioned the shimmering sun dispersing the storm. It would light up their home again and all would be well.
“Like every day the sun will be out tomorrow, it’s not gone forever,” smiled Lillian’s father. He loved his daughter very much and seeing her face brighten could only make him happy.
But for some reason, the sun did not appear the next day. The sky remained dark and cloudy even though the storm had passed. Lillian left the safety of her house with a petite shovel to restore any damage to her garden. Once she arrived, she saw hundreds of flower petals plucked from every brown, wilted stem. Her garden was beyond repairing and there was no hope. Falling to her knees, dropping her shovel, Lilly began to weep. All of her hard work was destroyed overnight. She just sat there in the mud; head hung low as her dress draped in the puddles. She cradled a sunflower head in her arms searching for any remaining seeds that might be salvageable.
“I’m sorry about your flowers, Lilly,” came a voice from within the woods.
Jumping to her feet, Lillian shut her eyes and slashed the sunflower stalk around like a sword. “Don’t eat me!” she screamed in panic.
“Hey, hey! Wait! I won’t eat you,” said the voice, “Look.”
The bushes along the forest rustled and Lillian turned to face the noise. There stood a young boy, about her age, with tousled hair and yellow skin. His eyes seemed to give off their own glow.
“Oh my gosh! Are you sick?” Lillian rushed over and dropped the sunflower. “You must be sick, I’ve never seen skin so yellow since my mother passed away! I’ll take you to my father, he can help you.”
Grabbing the boy’s hand, Lillian tried to drag the boy in the direction of her house.
“My gosh, hold on! I’m not sick.” Pulling his hand back, the boy stood upright and gave a slight bow. “My name is Sun. I’ve watched over your flowers everyday, but I finally had to come down and visit them.” Pausing for a moment, the boy spoke again, “I guess when I came down I made the sky all dark and stormy…”
Staring back blank faced, Lillian did not know what to say. This boy had to be the sun because there was no sun in the sky! It had to be true.
“I see,” she questioned, trying not to be too gullible.
“The reason I came down was to see if you would like to come to the sky with me…” explained Sun. “You’re such an amazing artist and the Moon no longer wants to paint the sky for night time. She doesn’t want to worry about painting it black every night with golden stars, the aurora borealis, or adding some clouds here and there. I think she finds fixing the sky a chore after I set for the day. She had a fit last night and caused the storm.”
Lillian did not know what to say and finally found words, “ – but my father.”
“Oh he’ll be fine down here. The stars you paint can watch over him for you. And if you don’t come with me – I won’t be able to rise and set in the sky. It will always be stormy without a sun around and there won’t be any change from day to night.”
Stunned, Lillian bent down to pick up her little shovel and gazed at it. She and her father would not be able to survive without the sun to grow their food.
Sensing her shock and discomfort, Sun stepped forward and magically pulled several tubes of paint from behind his back. Every color imaginable was in the palm of his hand and Lillian gasped in excitement.
“How—” Lillian sputtered.
“I’m the sun,” smirked the boy with pride welling up inside, happy that someone appreciated his talents. “I can create all sorts of colors from light. Maybe even colors you’ve never seen before!”
Lilly pursed her lips and looked closer, her nose just inches from Sun’s hands.
“If you don’t believe me— go ahead, try them out,” dared Sun. “They’re a little different than what you’re used to. Use the sky as your canvas.”
Taking the color she was familiar with, yellow, Lillian squeezed the paint out onto her palm and fingertips. Like any special artist, art could be made from anything. Lillian raised her hand high as if she were shielding her eyes from the sun. Though it was unbearably dark, when she lowered her hand, there was a small, yellow handprint brightening the sky.
A short squeal escaped her lips, startling Sun, “I can’t believe it! Look at that!”
Never doubting himself, Sun handed Lillian the other colors, “See what’d I tell ya? Fun isn’t it? So will you help me?”
Lillian took a moment to think as she added more colors around the small handprint. The sky was such a large canvas, she could paint as much as she wanted. She could paint the sky for everyone.
“I’ll come with you,” said Lillian grasping her shovel tightly. Out of love, she would leave her nice, tiny home and her loving father. Shedding but a single tear, Lillian refused to cry – the land had seen enough tears from the storm the night before.
Taking Sun’s hand, Lillian followed him up into the sky taking one last glance at her home.
From then on, Lillian paints the sky from Sun’s lovely hues and slowly mixes her colors of paint until finally it is night. Adding small details, she will toss the stars and constellations into the sky from a small pail and blanket them in clouds. Her prized job is to paint the beautiful colors of the aurora in the north. On certain days, she will allow it to rain in order to replenish the soil for wildlife, but she will always paint a beautiful sky afterwards full of baby blues and purples. Sometimes even a rainbow.
Though she had to leave her father, Lillian will rearrange the stars or paint them with bright colors hoping to attract her father’s attention.
Lillian’s father never found out what happened to his daughter. He feared some vicious animal gobbled her up in the woods. Over time, fallen sunflower seeds grew in Lillian’s garden in the field and for some reason they— always followed the sun.
Lillian, named in memory of a beautiful flower, loved to venture to the field beside the edge of the forest and care for her prized possession— a garden. It was mostly filled with daffodils, sunflowers, marigolds, and yellow peonies, for she imagined the small plot of land looked like the sun with so many golden flowers in it. Once they blossomed, Lillian would set up an easel outside and paint her fragile flowers with only a slim brush and a single tube of yellow paint.
One night a tragic thunderstorm blew across the family’s property threatening to blow the house over. The wind howled as heavy raindrops tried to seep in through the ceiling. Lightning flashed in the sky and little Lillian shook with fear on her father’s lap.
“When will the sun come out?” cried Lillian, “I’m worried all of my flowers might drown!”
Her father consoled her, rocking back and forth in a rocking chair beside the fire, “There, there, my little Lilly. Your flowers will be fine. A little water never hurt anybody – maybe they’re just taking a bath.”
Lillian glanced up with wide eyes, looking for reassurance, “You think?”
“Aw, sure. Maybe they want to look all nice and clean for you in the morning. Their colors will be so bright and golden tomorrow, you’ll just have to paint the sun itself!”
Lillian laughed with delight and envisioned the shimmering sun dispersing the storm. It would light up their home again and all would be well.
“Like every day the sun will be out tomorrow, it’s not gone forever,” smiled Lillian’s father. He loved his daughter very much and seeing her face brighten could only make him happy.
But for some reason, the sun did not appear the next day. The sky remained dark and cloudy even though the storm had passed. Lillian left the safety of her house with a petite shovel to restore any damage to her garden. Once she arrived, she saw hundreds of flower petals plucked from every brown, wilted stem. Her garden was beyond repairing and there was no hope. Falling to her knees, dropping her shovel, Lilly began to weep. All of her hard work was destroyed overnight. She just sat there in the mud; head hung low as her dress draped in the puddles. She cradled a sunflower head in her arms searching for any remaining seeds that might be salvageable.
“I’m sorry about your flowers, Lilly,” came a voice from within the woods.
Jumping to her feet, Lillian shut her eyes and slashed the sunflower stalk around like a sword. “Don’t eat me!” she screamed in panic.
“Hey, hey! Wait! I won’t eat you,” said the voice, “Look.”
The bushes along the forest rustled and Lillian turned to face the noise. There stood a young boy, about her age, with tousled hair and yellow skin. His eyes seemed to give off their own glow.
“Oh my gosh! Are you sick?” Lillian rushed over and dropped the sunflower. “You must be sick, I’ve never seen skin so yellow since my mother passed away! I’ll take you to my father, he can help you.”
Grabbing the boy’s hand, Lillian tried to drag the boy in the direction of her house.
“My gosh, hold on! I’m not sick.” Pulling his hand back, the boy stood upright and gave a slight bow. “My name is Sun. I’ve watched over your flowers everyday, but I finally had to come down and visit them.” Pausing for a moment, the boy spoke again, “I guess when I came down I made the sky all dark and stormy…”
Staring back blank faced, Lillian did not know what to say. This boy had to be the sun because there was no sun in the sky! It had to be true.
“I see,” she questioned, trying not to be too gullible.
“The reason I came down was to see if you would like to come to the sky with me…” explained Sun. “You’re such an amazing artist and the Moon no longer wants to paint the sky for night time. She doesn’t want to worry about painting it black every night with golden stars, the aurora borealis, or adding some clouds here and there. I think she finds fixing the sky a chore after I set for the day. She had a fit last night and caused the storm.”
Lillian did not know what to say and finally found words, “ – but my father.”
“Oh he’ll be fine down here. The stars you paint can watch over him for you. And if you don’t come with me – I won’t be able to rise and set in the sky. It will always be stormy without a sun around and there won’t be any change from day to night.”
Stunned, Lillian bent down to pick up her little shovel and gazed at it. She and her father would not be able to survive without the sun to grow their food.
Sensing her shock and discomfort, Sun stepped forward and magically pulled several tubes of paint from behind his back. Every color imaginable was in the palm of his hand and Lillian gasped in excitement.
“How—” Lillian sputtered.
“I’m the sun,” smirked the boy with pride welling up inside, happy that someone appreciated his talents. “I can create all sorts of colors from light. Maybe even colors you’ve never seen before!”
Lilly pursed her lips and looked closer, her nose just inches from Sun’s hands.
“If you don’t believe me— go ahead, try them out,” dared Sun. “They’re a little different than what you’re used to. Use the sky as your canvas.”
Taking the color she was familiar with, yellow, Lillian squeezed the paint out onto her palm and fingertips. Like any special artist, art could be made from anything. Lillian raised her hand high as if she were shielding her eyes from the sun. Though it was unbearably dark, when she lowered her hand, there was a small, yellow handprint brightening the sky.
A short squeal escaped her lips, startling Sun, “I can’t believe it! Look at that!”
Never doubting himself, Sun handed Lillian the other colors, “See what’d I tell ya? Fun isn’t it? So will you help me?”
Lillian took a moment to think as she added more colors around the small handprint. The sky was such a large canvas, she could paint as much as she wanted. She could paint the sky for everyone.
“I’ll come with you,” said Lillian grasping her shovel tightly. Out of love, she would leave her nice, tiny home and her loving father. Shedding but a single tear, Lillian refused to cry – the land had seen enough tears from the storm the night before.
Taking Sun’s hand, Lillian followed him up into the sky taking one last glance at her home.
From then on, Lillian paints the sky from Sun’s lovely hues and slowly mixes her colors of paint until finally it is night. Adding small details, she will toss the stars and constellations into the sky from a small pail and blanket them in clouds. Her prized job is to paint the beautiful colors of the aurora in the north. On certain days, she will allow it to rain in order to replenish the soil for wildlife, but she will always paint a beautiful sky afterwards full of baby blues and purples. Sometimes even a rainbow.
Though she had to leave her father, Lillian will rearrange the stars or paint them with bright colors hoping to attract her father’s attention.
Lillian’s father never found out what happened to his daughter. He feared some vicious animal gobbled her up in the woods. Over time, fallen sunflower seeds grew in Lillian’s garden in the field and for some reason they— always followed the sun.