It was as if he was not a child of the Sun. He turned sadly with his knapsack, and headed down. Found a moonbeam that he followed to its limit; turned the round knob and climbed back in, to Her, his other mother. Safe within he fully lowered the curtain behind with a single bicolored strand---silver and black. Sparkling and speckled, it unrolled as he looked back---forever safe and dry, day and night, he'd be sacked in that lunar room. Yes, he would curl up, hide in this surrogate womb.

An unexpected reversal overtook him: Curiosity. He, an old man, pressed his face to her inner belly as if to just once more feel the kick of Earth as it grew. Like in a glass sphere, his face spread across the surface of her abdomen. His eyes in her craters; his nose upon a mountain; his mouth twisting through valleys, unexpectedly serene. He closed his eyes but a moment... and the Sun kissed him goodnight.