I see a myriad of coloured suns. Stars are not just twinkles of white. All the colours of the rainbow are up there for you to see, their hue determined by their age, size and chemical makeup. From the monstrous Supergiants like Antares, with a radius three hundred and twenty times that of our Sun, to Red Giants like Betelguese in the constellation of Orion, to brilliant White Dwarfs barely the size of Jupiter. Lying on top of your car, you see one burn across the sky every few minutes, leaving a ghostly, glowing trail suspended miles above the cloudtops.
Thousands burn up in the sky every day, their dusty remains drifting down to the ground.
While you're sitting in your office, or watching Oprah, or choosing a new brand of toilet paper, ancient bits of the solar system are being violently annihilated a few miles above your head. Charged particles from the Sun pour into the Earths magnetic field, grounding at the North and South Poles as dancing curtains of light. I see our Moon, pock-marked and white, its rotation halted by millions of years of gravitational braking as it tried to drag our oceans around with it, washing our shores with the daily tides. I see the Sun itself hurtling along its orbital path around the galactic core, dragging along a shoal of planets, comets, asteroids and moons, ineffectively showering them with neutrinos. Four million tons of hydrogen are burnt in this stellar furnace every second as it performs its alchemy, breaking down light elements and rebuilding them as iron.