Stardate 4.26 e 99

As the mild breeze moves over the lay of the land and as the daylight fades, the leaves rustle just enough to announce that they are still there; an other-worldly chirping emanates from the surrounding bushes creating a blanket of sound that sets the stage for the emergence of the distant stars, each guarded by even more numerous distant moons swelling the tides on countless distant planets. A boy in blue jeans waits motionless in a thicket of tall damp grass for the climax of the show.

As the stars brighten and their backdrop blackens, the chirping becomes more rhythmic and begins to feel less oppressive yet more ominous, like the pulsating of some distant, large, ancient, slowly turning motor, as if the shroud of sound has been pulled back and become a tent leaving plenty of space for some yet to arrive presence. Another voice joins the choir. The sound of air rushing to fill a vacuum, the hiss of tires on the highway, slowly increases in volume until it eclipses all other means of perception.

Such a total eclipse, such that all that remains is total blackness and the whoosh, swish, shhhiisssss shadow of sound. All together, all at once, the starts reappear, having called forth enough energy to prick pinholes in the perceptual dome, or has its insulation merely thinned due to the introduction of some other stimulus, that glow just barely noticeable at the edge of the range of vision? The stars seem to continue to brighten, growing larger until they begin to combine and bather everything in a light as bright as day but less yellow, more . . . white.

As each individual star quickly loses its individuality to the heavenly sea of pure light, the vague hue from far away grows in magnitude or at least hastily moves closer. The battle between sight and sound boils, neither quite able to gain the upper hand but each separately increasing in intensity, reaching new levels of unremitting over-stimulation. With shriek, the color of the afterimage following a direct glance at the sun flares overhead. The boy leaps from the thicket and with a single stride clears the horizon in pursuit of the twilit cardinal.

Stardate 3.21e99

Today we saw a bluejay. It was the most amazing thing we've ever seen. As it emerged from the nebula in the Canis Major Dwarf galaxy and "saw" us it let out a cry like the brakes of a freight train straining to halt the angular momentum of supersonic spokes. A shock wave sent a shudder through the ship before any of our veteran bird watchers had even spotted the electric blue of the birds backside.
Once the alert sounded, everyone on the ship ran to the windows on the port side to get a better look. This, of course, caused the ship to spin on the axis running from front to back. Without the aide of friction to slow our swirl, we were forced to take action.
All together we ran to the other side of the ship. As it began to slow, one by one we redistributed ourselves randomly throughout so as to not incite further spinning on any axis.
unfortunately, in all the commotion, we forgot about the blue jay. Fortunately, it had apparently found the spinning spaceship quite amusing and had approached to investigate. This was our first insight into the behavior of intergalactic birds. Apparently, they haven't learned to fear poachers. I'm not convinced that they have any reason to fear anything; I don't think they can even be killed. I mean how do you kill something that is pure energy. This is just my opinion though. We havn't been able to perform any "biological" analysis to determine what they actually might be.
Staring out the window at this insubstantial incomprehensibly sized vision of life in its purest state left me with a feeling of great euphoria coupled with apprehensive anxiety about where we've been and towards what we might be headed. With its light colored beak set between its twinkling eyes in front of its burning bright brain above its lightning bolt blue back with its wings outstretched steadying itself in the wind of stellar radiation and the bombardment of particle transportation, it let out a sound that I imagined to be a small laugh and returned to the cloud of gas and dust from which it came. I assume it went to tell the others of our arrival and our ineptitude. By the time we have our next encounter, I hope our engineers with have figured out how to keep the ship from flipping out.

Stardate 1e99

Towards which our jouney will take us we know not; however, one of the brighter spots seems more likely to me.