capossere

We need the sight of the stars and their gentle, nightly reminder of our small place in the universe. Otherwise we might become as the characters in Asimov's story who, knowing no stars but their own until the 2,049th year, are stunned by the appearance of so many millions. They find it a crushing blow. Faced with sudden insignificance, driven mad by the swift inconsequences of their lives, their civilization crumbles. The universe is not what they thought it was. It seldom is.

Recently I stood in our driveway and in a moment's time counted the stars—Little Dipper, the North Star, and a few I could not name. Eleven in all. Tycho Brahe, from his island stronghold of Uraniborg, counted a thousand. Hipparchus of Nicaea about the same. Granted, tonight was overcast, a poor night for stargazing made worse by the damping light of a gibbous moon. But a handful more would have made the total no less meager, and there is something in me that sighs at such an empty sky. The stars of my childhood have, like the moments of my life, like the memories of my father, winked out one by one, leaving the night diminished, and me outside wondering what greater world I will show to my own small and wondering son. (27-28)

Bill Capossere. "Man in the Moon." Harper's Magazine. February 2006. 25-29.