When I moved here, to Virginia, the stars hardly crossed my mind for the first few months while I adjusted to a new place, living in the city, new routines, and applied myself to finding a job. But then they began to call to me.
At home, in New York, I look to the sky for comfort. I enjoy stargazing on a blanket in the yard. (Though now that all the trees are grown up, the middle of the driveway is the best place for stargazing.) One night in Virginia I went outside to do a little looking-up. Imagine my surprise at only seeing one or two tiny points of light sparkling back at me! A phrase entered my mind then that I had only heard once, but never forgot and never truly understood until that moment: light pollution.
How strange the orange glow on the horizon, as if the edges of the sky were on fire! The moon shone brightly to my right and those two stars burned through the indigo backdrop. I was mesmerized. I had no idea that people couldn't see the sky as I had always seen it: clear with the stars shining benevolently down. I couldn't believe that I wouldn't be able to go outside and find the Big and Little Dippers, and the North Star.
Source: Astropix.com via Pinterest
One of my routines upon returning to New York for visits and the like has been to walk outside on that first cool, clear night and look up. It's like a balm on my soul: to be outside, gazing at the stars, contemplating the vastness of Creation and the very small space in it that I occupy. The very small space that occupies everyone I have ever known and affected in some way. The stars are very good that way. Allowing for such large thoughts.
I encourage and urge you to go outside and look up. If you are lucky you will see constellations. If you don't see many stars at all, then I hope that somehow, sometime in your life you will see them as I have and that you will allow yourself to truly see how very small you are in comparison.
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