And then, a moment of natural perfection unfolds. And you realize you are small, yet part of something big. Something natural.
Something you can almost touch but fail to grasp. A starry blanket that is always there becomes visible—as if unveiled for the first time.
For a night.
We watch it shoot and flicker. Light up and fade away.
It makes us think about the future. The past. The known and unknown. We can't peel away. It makes us think yet removes thought.
In the morning, we lose sight of it, yet it is still there. But do we remember that? When we look up in the day, do we see what we know is there?
What would days on Earth be like if we could all simply remember how that blanket makes us feel at night?
We think brighter. Not darker.