Meteor Night (a repost)

Meteor night rounds off the second week
of August. We spread an ancient carpet over
grass, and sweep it clean, then roll it up

to pass the first dew's fall. Friends come, bearing
food and vacuum bottles, blankets, pillows,
sweaters, and good cheer, staking out

what are believed to be the front-row seats.
The guests trail whiffs of basil, sage and mint
where cuffs encountered these along the path.

Sunset drains away from Jasper Mountain's
scree. A screen door bangs; small bodies hurtle
in and out of inner space. Tea

and coffee make their rounds, and someone says:

"I see a star -- the first!" Vega, usually,

unless it is a planetary summer.

One of the young ones knows his sky charts better

than we do; he walks us through the brighter stars,

small arm sweeping the great ecliptic:

"This is Regulus; the icy one is Altair;

And that is Arcturus." We tell him we like Arcturus;

a fire so heavy it looks a sullen lamp

following the sun to bed.

"Look, look," shout others sitting near. Some

turn, as often happens, a hair late;

the quick ones tell them what they've seen.

A spark has overrun an arc of sky

from beyond the neighbor's nodding cows,

fading as it neared the silent oaks.

We settle now to a serious evening's work,

this witnessing of evanescent shows

these pebbles make, vanishing in our air

-- all as it were to entertain frail creatures

hardly less ephemeral than themselves.

 

 

 

_________

This was written at the farm in the 1990s.

Tonight I sat out for a bit and saw two good meteors, the slim pink moon, a fan of clouds illuminated by it, many satellites, some southbound jets up high, and a big brightly illuminated jet, probably from Seattle, that circled low around me, passed the moon, and eased down toward the airport. No aurora, though I saw one in April. Mustn't be greedy.