My word is ‘Planet’:
And this is what it brings to mind:
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what Spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me
– Frank Sinatra
Um, I think Spring on Jupiter and Mars would be pretty dreary, given that there is no plant life and I’m pretty sure the atmosphere is too thin to breathe. Thus is the magic of metaphor, although I’m not sure this one works for me.
The moon is part of a lot of metaphors and poetry too, isn’t it? It’s very romanticized for a giant, round rock doomed to circle the Earth for all time.
Actually, if you think about it, all art is basically an attempt to romanticize the fact that we are just a bunch of carbon-based life forms struggling (or not) to survive on a giant round rock floating with other rocks around a huge ball of fire.
End Note: I couldn’t possibly write a single sentence about “planet” better than the one I got it from:
Sun shining like a big yellow shining… er, warmey planet on fire thing.
Louise Rennison. The woman is a special kind of genius.