If one lies back on a grassy knoll in the dead of winter and stares into the rich blackness of the sky, speckled with infinite spots of stars, one cannot but help and feel as though the infinite will envelop you and swallow you up, causing you to disappear, to forever be forgotten in the finite. How small we are!

But yet, we are great in our size, and in our stature we are giants. We walk among the stars and tread upon the mountains. We are the masters of our domain, and in this greatness, we are the pinnacle, that which no others are, and can only hope to equal. We are truly the thinking animal.

But these conflict and confuse us. Who are we? Are we the greatest of animals, are we but a flyspeck to the universe, no better than any other species. We are truly both in the same. We are here to be supreme, but we are but a flicker of candlelight, that is always ready to be snuffed out.

We are a great dichotomy. We are a great riddle. We are the joke and the punchline. We are that to which there is no response. We are, but we are alone, as one stares into the void that is the sky and wonders who else walks among the stars. Who else is there to rival us, and be proven the funnier joke.

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