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For those not fortunate enough to live two miles up, I shall attempt to sum up the experience of looking up at the night sky.

For starters, to look up is not to see the void, but rather its absence. From horizon to craggy horizon, your field of view consists of stars. Twenty, a hundred, a million, nigh-numberless in their infinite majesty. To look up is not to see black, but indigo:
the purplish hue of worlds upon worlds as yet uncharted, a Milky Way forward if we have only the audacity to grasp at it.

To look up, from two miles up, with all the murky present below you, is to see the distant past and the oh-so-nearly-gotten future.

Also, that bright dot is Jupiter.

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