Nothing compares with the first moment of awareness of how tiny we are in this universe. Our lives, like all stories, are made up of individual moments. Moments that we live through with very little awareness of our surroundings.
My Dad was a farmer. Our home was in the country several miles from a small town in South Dakota. There were no streetlights, only the night sky. One moonless night, as my mother and I walked the quarter mile home from our neighbors, I could hear coyotes howling in the hills across the Belle Fourche River. The mournful cry of coyotes, the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet, and the clear sky with all those stars are imprinted in my heart. It was one of those defining moments that has made me who I am. It was a piece of living art that is a filter for me of just what beauty and mystery are. It is where I first learned to breathe in the sky.