No matter how many times I have seen it, photographed it or shared it, the view into the core of our Milky Way galaxy never loses its sense of wonder.

Captured somewhere over north eastern Brazil, in the middle of the night, while countless villages and towns quietly drifted beneath our Boeing 747 at 34,000 ft. With my camera secured at a somewhat unconventional angle in the cockpit, a long exposure revealed colours and depth the naked eye can barely grasp. Ancient light, travelling unimaginable distances before quietly ending its journey on a camera sensor.

For hundreds of thousands of years, humanity looked up at this very same sky in wonder. The stars inspired myths, religions, navigational skills, stories and entire worldviews. That glowing band stretching across the night sky, mysterious and impossible to understand, became woven into who we are. Long before cities, long before empires, long before flight.

And yet today, much of humanity rarely sees it anymore.

A famous story tells how, during the major Los Angeles blackout of 1994, dozens of people reportedly called emergency services to report a strange glowing cloud in the night sky. It turned out to be the Milky Way. Many had never truly seen it before, and there is something quietly tragic about that.

Light pollution has hidden one of the greatest wonders of existence from millions of people, a view into the abyss. A reminder that above our busy lives, our screens and city lights, something ancient, vast and deeply humbling still waits for us in silence, for all of us to see if we ever get the chance.

An open invitation to imagine, to wonder, to explore.

Ad Astra.