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The sky is never empty, especially not when it's being watched. There's always a message playing in front of backdrops of baby blue, midnight or pale purples that blend to firey reds and golds in the distance.

At first we looked to the clouds for meaning.

That's a rabbit.
I think I see Mary Worth on an elephant!
That one looks like cotton candy, doesn't it?

We'd roll in the grass and admire the giants, wispy maybe or today fluffy, as they spelled imagination in the sky.

As we grew older, it was the evening light that called to us. Wishing on first starlight for the boys of our dreams, for freedom from curfew or something equally important. It seemed we spoke to the stoic, for the stars never answered.

We learned that the light that appeared as a distant twinkle came from more energy than we could ever hope to possess; from hydrogen and helium and magnificence. Still, we searched their patterns for answers. We spoke of Cassiopeia and Orion, we dreamed of astrological truths to our terrestrial inquiry. The reality was that their answers were too big for such tiny questions.

It seems to me now that it is the stars who go unanswered. Burning brightly from the past, their light pings humanity like a submarine under water. We don't seem strong enough to call back on our own. And so they stay, circling overhead to search while we illuminate our landmasses with bright shining buildings and cities you can see from space. A desperate acknowledgement of a truth too far away to receive it.

Light a candle, make a wish. Hope the stars are listening.