Moonlight reminds me of a mortuary and the cold wash of an unshaded globe over a marble slab, but starlight is alive and never still, it is almost as though someone in names of the stars are friendly. Venus is any woman we love, the Bears are the bears of childhood, and I suppose the Southern Cross, to those, like my wife, who believe, may be a favourite hymn or a prayer beside the bed.
People who live on hills sleep so close to the stars they forget those of us who live too much on earth.
Nothing save witnessing the strewn vista of the stars could convince a man that timelessness and God existed.