Iris is someone of little importance. She lives half of her life on the ground and the other half up in the clouds. And joyfully so. Ideally, if there was such a profession, she would make her living as a professional bestarer. She would keep a rainbow assortment of shimmering and glowing stars of all different proportions. She would work mostly in the night, but sometimes in the day, and tirelessly. She would hang stars from trees and ceilings. She would decorate walls, dew flowers in the gardens, set them out like little boats to sea, make garlands of them to place around heads, leave them on doorsteps, in mailboxes, and under pillows. Oh! She really could think of a million things to bestar.