The sun was pleased by the work of the architect
But something seemed to be missing.
Something no one else had before.
“Form for me a jewel,” the Sun said one day.
“It must outshine the best of my collection.”
“Make it blue,”
“A deep, dark, ocean blue.”
“Make it cool and refreshing.”
“Swirl it around with reds, browns and greens”
“Add a few little patches of white.”
“Make it a piece of art.”
“It will be my prized possession.”
The architect did as he was told.
The new gem grew out of the womb of nebula.
As it did it burned.
The jewel was red and molten in the forge of the Solar System
Continually bombarded by small chunks
Shaping the metal like hammers over fire.
The great forge master smiled at his work.
He showed his white teeth among his long, scraggly, smoke-colored beard.
He held the formless mass over the fire and rhythmically hammered away.
Making the molten ball bigger.
Hot sparks leaped up off the surface
Splashing down once again.
This continued over many millennia.
The forge master perfected his craft.
Hot gasses steamed out.
Slowly, pieces of black land came up
Crusting over the red molten liquid.