By Kiara Cross
When you live in the city, you find yourself not really caring about the night sky or the stars in it. It’s not like you can see them with the looming skyscrapers littered with blinking dots and the lights emanating from the streets below. There’s nothing particularly interesting about the sky anyways if you do manage to find a break in the clouds at night. It’s just barely visible lights, mundane as the lights in the cities are.
However, living out in the country is a different story. Out there, there’s nothing for miles around. No lights, no noise—nothing. That’s why it’s the best place to lay down on the soft earth and open your eyes to the night sky above.
The first time you see the Milky Way up there, glimmering and shining above you, you can’t believe it. You can’t believe that something like that is real, that you can actually see it. You almost feel as if you aren’t meant to see it with your own eyes. You are only a speck in the eyes of the universe and it really is apparent the first time you see the splattering of stars stretching across the sky.
It’s also apparent that while you—lying there on your red picnic blanket in the middle of your backyard—looking up at the stars, there’s someone else looking back.
If you’ve ever seen the Milky Way, I’m sure you’ve felt it. That otherworldly feeling that makes the hair on the back of your neck raise and suddenly makes you too aware of the silence of the field and house around you. That feeling that makes you suddenly realize the aching numbness of your limbs and the cold enveloping you now.
That feeling that makes you realize that you’ve been staring at the sky for hours into the night, rather than the few seconds that you had thought you’d been out there.
You can run back into your dark farmhouse, leaving behind the blanket in the middle of the field, but it won’t change the fact that you had looked above at the heavens and the heavens looked back, right through you.