We know the spider’s thread runs out, just as the horizon ends. A new sun every day, and a moon to follow. We can name every particle in an atom, we can write equations to describe the forces that govern their wild dances in the air. We can measure a ray of light and know its precise arrival on a distant planet. Yet we have forgotten how to revel at the immensity of the sky, the grandeur of a cloud unfurling its fingers in a blue expanse. We have lost our ability to conceive what magic must be like. Because we can describe a solar flare with numbers and glyphs, we have forgotten how to worship the Sun with prayers and incantations. We have the audacity to deny the existence of God because we have sent men and women to the Moon, tiny machines to the surface of Mars and deep into the chasms of the Mariana Trench. Do you feel this ache too? This longing to forget the name of every star, to forget the name of a lover, to find solace in a few rays of sunlight without knowing their final destination?