One must imagine Sisyphus happy

There had appeared an object high up in the sky, dashing straight towards the cosmos, apparently escaping earth and its dwellers. It was the early hours of a spring day, but the sun was up at the horizon. The air was still cold and fresh. A man, all alone by himself, was sauntering amid a vast field of lush greens that swayed in the morning breeze. He must have noticed that something was odd with the sky that day. He would have confirmed this conjecture had he looked above right then, for the flying object overhead had now grown double its size, accelerating away from its surroundings. That morning, when it dawned, was inarguably the freshest of the season. The man dressed in his local attire continued walking listlessly amid the fields of green stalks. Any living being might have sensed the mysterious entity right above had there been one other than that lone man, for he did not deign to glance skyward; he had his gaze entirely fixed down at his feet, unperturbed, unstirred. Walking slowly, steadily forward. Unbeknownst to him, the object above was now catching fire, covered in fluttering flames, a fireball. It had grown huge enough to resemble a meteor, differing only in that its trajectory pointed away from the earth. The robust, fresh colours of the morning were now turning bleak and dark. The lush verdure around no longer appeared green, it had begun turning into shades of grey. The man had seemed to notice nothing; seemed to show no sign of vexation or concern. He continued his walk, undisturbed and unstirred. Whereas the world around him seemed to be approaching its end, the scene culminating into an apocalypse. The fireball was now an overgrown blazing sphere stretching across half of the sky, obscuring the sun completely. Shockingly, its bewildering flames emitted no lights of their own rather they cast an enormous shadow that grew incessantly, enveloping the earth beneath imperceptibly. The man was now nearing the end of the field. His steps appeared more heavy and lethargic than ever. That morning, an epitome of bliss and heaven in its infancy, had now aged into a loathsome, detestable hell. All the fields that spanned the entire land, that once appeared satisfied and happy, that once danced and swayed, now stood stock-still, effusing despair and despondency. The man still walked through them unbothered, still stared at the damp soil under his feet, still showed no alarm at all. The blistering object was now enveloping the entire visible sky above, reaching every horizon, throwing the land beneath in utter invisibility. Those early hours of spring were now devoid of any hope or bliss they once possessed. Right when it seemed that the earth would rupture under the enormous tension any time soon, the man reached the end of the field at last. He did not have to go any further. He did not have to take another step. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He slowly turned his face heavenward and let his eyes discern the object of interest. The blue sky was entirely spotless.  He looked sideways, but the fields were the freshest green, undulating under the caresses of the calm breeze of the day. He looked ahead, but the morning was the most peaceful and elated it had ever been. One might argue that a look of disappointment flashed across his face at that moment, but one would certainly agree that the man let out a deep sigh, lowered his eyes, and started walking once again.