| One night last summer we were camped at ten thousand feet up where the air is
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| clear, high in the Rockies of Lost Lake, Colorado. |
| And as the fire burned low
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| and only a few glowing embers remained, we laid on our backs all warm in our
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| sleeping bags and looked up at the stars
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| And as I felt myself falling into the vastness of the Universe, I thought about
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| things, and places, and times
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| I thought about the time my grandma told me what to say when I saw the evening
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| star. |
| You know, Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.
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| I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight
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| The air is crystal-clear up here; |
| that’s why you can see a million stars
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| I remember a time a bunch of us were in a canyon of the Green River in Wyoming;
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| it was a night like this. |
| And we had our rafts pulled up on the bank an'
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| turned over so we could sleep on 'em, and one of the guys from New York said, «Hey! |
| Look at the smog in the sky! |
| Smog clear out here in the sticks!
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| «And somebody said, «Hey, Joe, that’s not smog; |
| that’s the Milky Way.»
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| Joe had never seen the Milky Way
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| And we saw the Northern Lights once, in the Bitterroot Mountains of Montana.
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| They’re like flames from some prehistoric campfire, leaping and dancing in the
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| sky and changing colors. |
| Red to gold, and blue to violet… Aurora Borealis.
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| It’s like the equinox, the changing of the seasons. |
| Summer to fall,
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| young to old, then to now. |
| And then tomorrow…
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| And then everyone was asleep, except me. |
| And as I saw the morning star come up
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| over the mountains, I realized that life is just a collection of memories.
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| And memories are like starlight: they go on forever |