I remember stepping from forest to meadow as the Milky Way cleared a jagged skyline, lanterns dimmed at a distant farm. Someone whispered a question about Saturn, then silence answered. Breath slowed, shoulders dropped, and a long-held worry finally loosened its grip beneath so many steady lights.
Perched by a low stone wall, we kept tally on a crumpled map while warm tea steamed from a flask. The wind hummed. Every streak pulled delighted laughter from strangers soon made friends. Numbers mattered less than the sense of belonging stitched across the dark.
Clouds toyed with patience near Vršič until a gap opened like a curtain draw. No app had promised it. We turned off lamps, curled hands around mugs, and simply listened. When stars poured through, the group fell quiet, as if the mountains themselves were breathing slower.
All Rights Reserved.