We lay on rugs on spongy moss huddled for warmth, heads on stomachs, our prayers and wishes at the ready. And nothing came. The animals entered dark outlines and constellations marked the bones of giant mythic beasts and beings, Cassiopeia and Ursa Major, Pegasus, Cygnus the Swan. And still we waited, with nerves and hearts as much as eyes, as if we were waiting for new lives to open up miraculously or some spark to jolt us into different ways of thinking. And as we wondered, ‘Will they ever come?’ three of us shouted, the others exclaiming ‘Where? Where?’ – we pointed to the interstellar spaces and there, a streak of light, a cry of wonder, then a rush of thicker light, its wake fizzing like a rocket’s tail, a smaller star unzipping a patch of dark. And on they came, popping up, as slight as blinks or like torches of white fire drawn across the immensity of space – as if a veil had fallen and we were watching the stirrings of the universal mind, each cell and synapse and signal in the firmament of its being. Up our wishes flew, and prayers, too, our backs moulded in the mountain top our eyes filling with endlessness.