Thank you for showing me the stars

I remember colorful flowers, wavy clothes and the pier on the lake. The pier where you kept picking me up to jump into the refreshing water in the evening. The summer seemed to last forever, and the temperatures had never been hotter. At least it felt like that when we, warmed by the summer sun, were lying on the long wooden pier at night. You showed me the route of the Milky Way. Up there in the well-nigh infinite firmament of the heavens. Filled with thousands upon thousands of stars that made our world look immeasurably small. I loved our little world. I still love it. Much has changed since that time. We have grown up and come to assume the roles of proud grandparents. We raised our children the way we would have liked to have been raised by our own parents. I believe we did a lot of things right. It seems to me that our view of the world is good. At least good enough to live our lives with love in our hearts. And to pass this love on to others. And, sometimes, when I look back on this summer of 1963, I become convinced that we developed our view of the world by looking at the stars. These millions of lights that brightened our souls and, at the same time, kept us far away from any delusions of grandeur. Away from any overreaching ideas of what the rest of this life may still have in store for us. Contentment. That’s what we wanted. To be content - that was our concept of a good life. To know exactly what would make us happy - in spite of an overabundance of choices. And today, just as they did long ago, the stars fill my heart with joy. Just as you do. When you lie next to me and gaze up into the sky. And I follow your look, which leads me to them once again.