I have been sitting outside tonight getting the very old news from the stars: what happened to them a hundred million years ago. I followed their lesson, of course, and now I ache all over from being reminded of how small and insignificant I am, that life is as brief as a spark, etc. The universe is always so patronizing, like a high school guidance counselor, like Woodrow Wilson looking down on the world through twinkling glasses, pursing his lips, knowing his history.
Compared to the dreary life of any star, flaring up to collapse into nothing, my life is rich with happenings. For example, a bat like a small black rag has been fluttering back and forth through the yard light all evening, harvesting the stars of tiny moths, catching one tiny star in its teeth with each pass. They jerkily fly this way and that, but they can't escape this hungry little piece of darkness. Local wonders.
— Ted Kooser, Local Wonders