There have always been women in the sky. Clouds have always held the soft curves so many Earth-women possess. Lightning bolts are the sharp-edged ones, not quite so soft, not quite so curved, yet beautiful still. The moon, of course, is a woman. The only question is which one: sweet Selene, illuminating the Earth and driving the moon across the heavens, swift and elegant as a chariot; Coyolxāuhqui of Aztec, whose head was thrown to the sky after her brother killed her, so that her father could find comfort in knowing she was always watching from above; Hina, both Dark and Fair, so powerful her emotions shift the phases of the moon; Chang'e, an empress with a tiger for a husband, swallowing immortality to save the Earth from him.
It used to be easier to see them, to look up and trace all of their feminine forms. It used to be easier to look up. It used to be easier to look anywhere at all.
Everywhere is bright, now, but if you squint, you might be able to see them, smooth bodies writhing in the artificial light. Drowning in it, almost. Selene's chariot eclipsed by Earth's own illumination, Coyolxāuhqui blinded and her father lost, Hina invisible as Dark Hina and even more invisible as Fair Hina, Chang'e wishing saving Earth from itself were as easy as saving it from her emperor.
But make no mistake - the women in the sky are not gone, merely overshadowed by all the lightbulbs Earth is wrapped in. There have always been women in the sky, and there will always be women in the sky; our lights and destruction cannot wear away their beauty, cannot tear apart their souls. The women in the sky are eternal. They are infinite. Immortal, if you will.
We are not.
And yet, we are beautiful anyways. We are not goddesses, we are not gods, we are not eternal, we are not infinite, we are not immortal, but we are still beautiful. We are human.
We are human, and that is beautiful.