The Foothill Expressway in Los Altos between Arastradero and Edith is very dark at night if the moon isn't full. There are no streetlights. And even though you can smell human activity nearby — steaks on a grill, fabric softener sheets in a hot dryer — you can't see anything but the dark outline of evergreens and maples, the white lines on the road, and the night sky.
It's while I ride my bike along this stretch, out of the sweep of car headlights, on fall and winter nights when it's so quiet, that I think about satellites. That some of those impassive lights in the sky are satellites, not stars.
I wonder if they can see me, pick me out of the dark scene.