On Looking at the Stars

We had all arrived, blissful and eager. The house was quaint, with a charmingly overgrown yard, wood panels on the interior walls, and a bowl full of fresh tomatoes from the owner's garden on the kitchen table. It was everything you'd expect a country house to be.

Cell phone service and wifi were nonexistent. But magnificent things happen when your phone is rendered useless. You become 6 ounces lighter. Your senses are heightened with the absence of that distraction. No one asks, "What did you just say?", after checking their email on their phone in the middle of a conversation. No one is snapchatting, instagramming, facebooking, emailing. Everyone is talking, teasing, laughing, smiling.

What is the opposite of looking down at your phone? Looking up at the stars.

The house was on a winding country road. A winding country road that doubled as a place to lay down your head and look up at the stars. So that's what we did. We spread out on the road, backs against the pavement, safe with the knowledge that country roads are lazy. Loose pebbles against cracking tar became our mattress. The vast sky, with it's glimmering pattern of stars, became our ineffably beautiful ceiling. Suffocated with awe, we stared. Stared at the domed sky of stars with a patience we wouldn't have been able to maintain if our phones had service. Stared long enough to see not one, but two shooting stars. Stared long enough to talk, laugh, and marvel. Long enough to feel incredibly small and incredibly big at the same time, the sky has a funny way of doing that to you.

Have you ever looked up at the stars?

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