Fragments From Floyd

Our out-of-town company arrived late last night (hence, the late start this morning). Coming from Atlanta, one of the first things my sister-in-law said was that she was looking forward to our country darkness so maybe we could see the remnants of the Leonid meteor shower. I was crushed. Once again, I'd let the date get past me.

That makes two now that I have totally forgotten since this academic stint began in August--first, the Perseids, now the Leonids. What a terrible waste of open, dark sky to be sitting indoors in the glare of a computer monitor when the earth passes through a sizzling swarm of wandering stars! If there is anything that our pasture is "for" (other than taking spiderweb pictures) it is watching the night sky--and most especially, the special events of meteor showers.

Ah, well. These passages through swarms of glowing cosmic trash will not come to an end because I fail to participate. Maybe next year, I'll not have my face buried in a text book. And there are the night times past that left visible traces in memory:

...In 30 minutes, I may have seen 200 meteors. Most were zips at the edge of vision. Some were spectacular, lighting up the valley in less than a blink, like a photographic flash. A few left persistent trails across the sky in the way an artist would dash a perfectly straight line on black canvas with a luminscent pale blue, fine-tipped brush.

Give me a show, I seemed to demand, waiting. Dazzle me with special effects. Entertain me. Finally, the Leonid Meteor Storm did put on quite a show. But weeks before it began, and any clear winter night of the year, with only one silent spectator bundled against the cold of the dark side of the planet, there would have been moonlight and starlight. There would have been creek sounds and the stark silhouettes of limbs against heaven. Why don't I spend more time outdoors at night, I wonder?

Will I make a habit of bundling up each morning to stand silent under a quiet sky when stars are fixed in their places? Honestly, no. But this morning I have remembered once again what night is like, and cold, and that things move out there beyond our vision and understanding, whether we remember to look up or not.