An ocean of clouds, undulating quietly beneath a single vessel. From above, starlight to dapple a subtle silver light. Coyly, it shrinks from any other illumination within or without, turning to ink. From below, lamplight like phosphoresence, the outline of each town clearly painted in warm oranges. When on a still tropical night you look down in the darkness, it is this. Even on chilly nights, even with trails of ice winding their way across the windows, it is this.

From below, we are invisible. A boat on the waves, an opaque night sky turning back all upward gazes. From above, we see only the archaeology of light. Remnants of dead stars vie with reminders of departed moments along city boulevards. Our light surely cannot reach them, surely will not reach them, but in each pinpoint a reminder waits. What creature on som far-distant sphere or deceptively close pavement has not shed light sadly, thinking it means nothing?

Our reminder is as fresh and twinking as starlight, as city lights. The light you shine now goes further than you know.

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