Two thousand stars breathe above a drifting nebula. Move your cursor to stir the solar wind, click anywhere to loose a falling star — the sky answers back.
A short field guide to what the sky is doing while the city sleeps.
The nebula is not burning — it is remembering. Ancient light scattered through dust until it learned to glow in colors no eye named for centuries.
Every falling star is small debris meeting air at eleven miles per second. What you wish on is a grain of a comet, signing its name in fire across eighty miles of sky.
By three the horizon has turned over without moving. The same stars, a different sky. Astronomers call it seeing; insomniacs call it company.
The stars went out one by one, like lamps in a city going to sleep — and still the sky kept breathing.— Field notes, observatory log, 03:47
Four skies, each simulated live at sixty frames a second. Hover to lean closer.
Six single-file pieces. One sky is only the first room.
The best instrument ever pointed at the sky costs nothing, requires no setup, and fits behind your eyes.