While out for a late-afternoon family walk, my two-year-old daughter glances up from her stroller, studies the bruised blue altitudes. “Sure is a big sky,” I tell her. “Big sky,” she burbles in return. Her words drift upward, create pillowy clouds along the horizon. Imagine some years from now when my daughter’s passageway into adulthood is like a grand hallway, where dreams still walk the earth and haven’t been ravaged by firestorms of cynicism. Imagine it could be that way for all of us—how we could one day glance along the horizon and realize the sky still bears the cloud tattoos of our long-ago child babble. How much easier we’d breathe if we could remain so connected to the world.