The sky, that blue span that seperates us from the heavens. Never have I seen the same sunrise or sunset twice, nor is the sky the same from moment to moment, place to place.
The dazzling pre-dawn blackness of the thin air of the Himalayas, with stars so bright and thick that daimonds on black velvet gaze upward in envy.
The faint, rosy glow that surrounds everything as the sun begins to peek over the horizon on a foggy morning off the east coast of Okinawa.
The stars dancing about through the ethereal curtains of the northern lights, glowing waves of blue and green waving gently amid the jeweled void.

Alas, there is no real way to share such moments, we must each discover them for ourselves. The effort however, is not spent in vain.

The snowflakes falling over the land blanket the city in the color of mourning, but the children, bedecked in their bright colors laugh and play under Amaterasu's smiling gaze.