Stars, Hide Your Fires

I've always been fascinated by stars.

When I lost my first baby tooth, instead of $5 the tooth fairy left a kids' astronomy kit.

I had yet to develop an avaricious streak

I remember that the kit had a guide to all the major constellations, and books about the solar system and comets and the formation of stars. I poured over those little books; I no longer have them primarily because I wore them to pieces.

I even went through a phase where I wanted to be an astronaut. That was before I realized my myopia basically disqualified me from even trying, and that physics sucks.

The only appropriate use of physics is in inappropriate pickup lines

Last night, the Earth passed through a debris cloud left by comet 209P/LINEAR in the 1800s. This was a new meteor shower, named the Camelopardalids (say that three times fast), and the world of astronomy was anxiously awaiting its arrival. No one knew exactly what to expect; the intensity of the meteor shower would depend on the comet's activity levels during the 1800s. The shower was best seen from North America, and it was a clear night. I had to take a look.

Unfortunately, my meteor shower watching had a few kinks. Namely, I had completely forgotten that the shower was happening until midnight, when I saw a tweet from NASA. While the shower was not expected to peak until 2:00AM, I didn't think my parents would accept "but there was a meteor shower!!" as an excuse for driving off in the middle of the night without first letting them know my whereabouts. No matter, I had a backyard, I had a blanket, and I had a dream. A dream that I, too, could watch pretty shooting stars. 

I crept quietly downstairs, slipped on my shoes, and went out the back door. I set up camp in the middle of my backyard. Unfortunately, my backyard is in the middle of a suburban neighborhood outside a very small city. Light pollution interferes with most stargazing activities. My backyard is also surrounded by trees. After my eyes adjusted to the night, I realized the radiant for the shower was conveniently obscured by trees. I'm tenacious, so I decided to watch anyway.

The night was beautiful, warm and clear. My last attempt at meteor shower watching had been during the Geminids, and I probably left that venture with mild frostbite. I had been in a darker area, and saw several glorious meteors, so it was entirely worth it. Do I really need appendages?

This night was different. A cool breeze rustled through the trees, and fireflies twinkled along with the stars. The last vestiges of evening clouds dissipated and the sky was clear. The wind was musical and alive. I could hear horned owls in the distance. It was all so lovely that I almost fell asleep. When the wind died down and the night's music ceased, I turned to Jack Johnson to fill the void. "Constellations" was an appropriate song for the morning. 

I stayed out for about an hour, saw one bright meteor and thought I saw several other faint ones. Lying out under the stars on such a lovely night lulled me into a very drowsy state, and I returned to my room so I wouldn't wake up confused in the middle of my yard. I didn't make it to the peak of the shower, but no matter, these things happen on a regular basis.

To ensure the best meteor shower watching conditions possible, I'm beginning preparations for the Perseids now. I've got the date on my calendar, and I'll scout out dark areas, pack the blankets and lawn chairs, and maybe even gather some friends between now and August. 

I love these natural fireworks. I love the uncertainty and the surprise that comes with meteor showers. I love looking at NASA's photographs from space. I love the night. In the words of Vincent Van Gogh, "I often think the night is more alive and richly colored than the day." I love gazing deep into the infinite cosmos, pondering life and its nuances. If any man asked me to go on a stargazing date complete with discussing the great unknown and acoustic guitar music, I would probably... Not finish this sentence because my mother reads my blog. Hi, Mom! 

I could wax on philosophic about my fascination with the night sky, but I'll end this rambling mess with the impeccable Oscar Wilde.