One evening not long ago I stood in the Nepalese town of Panga talking with a group of its citizens. For two hours or more I had been inquiring about their views of nature and of man's relation to nature, and our discussion had ranged widely over the world of familiar phenomena from rice planting to cosmology, from rainbows to moon and planets. Now as I was about to leave, we had stepped out into an enchantingly beautiful night. The houses across the square and the temple at its center were silhouetted against a brilliantly jewelled velvet black sky. Here and there a little mustard‐oil lamp offered a flickering challenge to the darkness, but there was no glare of street light or neon sign. Now and then a child's voice or the murmur of a conversation somewhere accentuated the quiet of the night, but there was no sound of vehicles or sirens or other machines of civilization, and we stood silent ourselves while enjoying the night. Just as I turned to leave, a bright “Echo” satellite appeared from behind the pagoda and swept in a slow silent arc across the sky. We watched it for several moments before I took leave and departed for my lodgings in the city.