A photon is trapped within it’s star for thousands of years before escaping. Once out, it darts in a single direction unimpeded. The chances to see any particular photon approaches zero. The vastness of space is simply too much. A photon is wasted, you could say. What is light’s purpose if not to illuminate something? And even so, it can only do so through enormous quantities.
The sun rose again over the horizon. It wasn’t a particularly amazing sight. The light was ancient and faint by the time it passed through the window, through the air, and into an eye. There was no need for eye protection this far away. The sun might as well have been another dot among billions.
Ethel was the only one who saw this particular rise. It would quickly dart across the sky and disappear once again, repeating seemingly indefinitely. To everyone it was unimportant. It would happen again in 30 minutes. It might as well have been an accident that she saw it. The photon was quietly disregarded by her brain alongside the billions of other photons that had made such a journey. There are far more important things to focus on.
Ethel was floating in a lab. Gravity would be inconvenient for her purposes. Everywhere else she could go had gravity. Yet, something about entropy not pulling on her was cathartic. Serene. Closer to the universe. Of course this meant nothing to the particles in a container, suspended by ferromagnetic alloy. Every particle is beautiful, but right now these particles were light years more important than a photon.