The night sky, without the stars, would not exist. There would only be a vast, meaningless black expanse. Each star is an isolated moment, but together they construct a narrative: here a bull, there a fish, an eagle, or a scale. And each star holds within it a complete world, with its movements, its colors, its stories. Together, the stars form the sky. Daily life is identical. There would only be an undifferentiated flow of events without consequence if it weren't for the occasional emergence of a moment, magical or tragic: the wing of a bird that obscures the sun for a fraction of a second, the nurse's gesture that becomes a dance, a sound that should resound but never does, the reflection of a cloud's movement on the lake that becomes a submerged swimmer with an endless breath. Together, these fragments form the dreams that shape our nights.