Lone Star Mountain the sweet taste of olive oil on your lips

It wasn’t often that Olive had a partner in her stargazing, but it was always delightful when that did happen. When it did, it was a splendid wonder to discover with whom she night pass the star-dotted night, sharing stories and telling information that spanned continents and generations. Some were familiar and some were not, and this night a man appeared whom she did not know, but seemed to respect her regard for the star gods all the same. If that was so, then he was more than welcome at her table. The shrouded dove passed a glance over her shoulder towards the man.

“Please, come join me,” she beckoned him closer with a slow blink and a scoot over to one side. “I am Olive,” she said, trying to become more immediately familiar with him.  “What do they call you?” She pointed with her ink black nose towards the spread of stars in the twilight sky, clarifying that the ‘they’ in question were, indeed, the gods. Names were god-given after all, weren’t they?