Out in the country you can see hundreds upon hundreds more stars more clearly. It is an astounding sight, amidst astounding quiet, and while gazing up at them, you remember you are ever so small and you feel ever so humbled.
Especially when you realize you have no idea which one is the North Star.
And then you might consider that at one time your Grandfather told you, but you have since forgotten.
And you wonder if you have forgotten because you were young and forgetful or because you can't see the stars well because you live in a smoggy city.
Then you find yourself coming to the conclusion that it is both.
Which makes you want to move somewhere you can see the stars.
Because, for some reason (perhaps literature or poems), you know deep inside that reflecting upon the stars is important. You aren't exactly sure why it is important, but you think it might be because doing so makes you aware of the fact that you are tiny, which makes you a little humble at the idea you are relatively insignificant.
And you also know that those are important things to realize from time to time. And you think, hey, these stars are pretty neat, and you like the way they keep you in perspective, just by looking at them.
Then you find yourself hoping that one day your children will be able to see them too, and in your optimism you think how great it would be to be able to show them the North Star, and want them to remember where it is...
in case they ever get lost.
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