Safely far away from the punishing radiation of the local gravity well, the rocky, icy body observes the goings-on of the other principle dancers of its sol system. There's never a dull decade, from this vantage.
Its attention turns first to all 8. The hyperactive one, and the other three rocky ones spinning quickly, perilously close to the nuclear powerhouse at the weighty center of the dance. It spares a moment to feel sorry for the third one, as it seems to have some kind of growth on its surface (that's what happens when you leave something in a warm, moist place...)
Then, after the ring of dust bunnies, the two ostentatious giant gas-balls. Such colors, and the rings on the nearer one! Finally, its closest neighbors, the giant ice-balls.
It sings to itself, and the rocks in its own, personal, swinging system. First, for all 8... then for the odd-numbered ones... then the even-numbered ones. Then for a while it considers the inner ones in relation to its nearest ice-ball neighbor; then the next in; then the next in again; until it's back to singing with just the inner four.
Its contemplation over, it goes back to singing on all of them, and then the odd-numbered ones, and then the even. And then, perhaps to conclude its song for now, it ponders its own completeness, and the loveliness of its frontier home... until once more realizing that there is a dance going on that it is inextricably a part of.
There is a whole.
And it is content to be just what it is, no matter what it is called.
