I took the job as editor of the Vintage for several reasons, and I’ve kept it for a couple of years for reasons other than why I took it, and I’ve loved it for reasons other than why I kept it. There is, however, one thing about the job that no other job can match: seeing the stars.

Everybody knows that the stars seem to move in the heavens above as the earth rotates, but few have actually taken the time to see it for themselves. I walk to work every night at 11:00 p.m., and when I walk back at 2:00 a.m. or 3:00 a.m or 4:00 a.m., the stars have traversed the sky. That’s part of the wonder of living in a universe that appears to be geocentric. Then too, few people see the stars because they’re blinded by all the street lights and house lights and car lights and other sorts of nasty artificial lights that pollute the sky. At 2:00 a.m. or 3:00 a.m or 4:00 a.m., there are no lights except those lesser lights ordained to rule the night, and in the coldness of the night they shine as they were intended. And then there’s the silence. Walk outside sometime during the night before everyone goes to bed and listen, really listen, to man’s cacophony profaning the night. At 2:00 a.m. or 3:00 a.m or 4:00 a.m., I get to hear the stars making the music of the spheres: silence.

And so, tonight, I emerge again to see the stars.