Replying to
@sundogplanets@mastodon.social Mine was Tonga, circa 2013.
At the time, there was NOTHING in the sky. Minimal development across the nation's ~170 islands. You'd see local light pollution on Tongatapu but on the half dozen other small islands I visited the stars were bright enough to forget about the tiny little refuge you were clinging to, against the miles and miles and miles of water stretching in every direction, and that just a paltry simulacrum of the endless expanse above you.
You'd hold your hand up to the sky and let it drop because it eclipsed so many stars.
And you'd look towards the sea and see that light mirrored endlessly in the crests of ten thousand waves racing every which way. You'd grow accustomed to noise of the water during the day - and then you'd actually *see* the source of that noise at night. And you'd smoke a cigarette, and yell into the night, and then go back inside, defeated.
I love the cold and the thin mountain air, but one of my fondest nature memories was built in the heart of the ocean.
