Sky Line
Wednesday, July 23rd, 2008
Better views are out another 10 miles or so, where barbed-wire fencing replaces the guardrails on the interstate. Further out where houses are separated by acres of soy beans and feathery wheat tops, the land opens up, and the earth as it spreads around can seem as vast as the sky. Tonight, I am not fortunate enough to be out that far in the country, so from the front porch of our little house in this small town, I trick myself into believing that the rooftops in our neighborhood bring some perspective to the heavens.
Starry holes burn through the orange haze that hangs above the city lights. Directly above, the celestial formations are out in full view tonight, but on either side of the horizon, though, they have been wiped clean by the urban glare put off by this small town of 10,000 people. Under the orange glow in the sky is a foggy white and its source may just be the tremendous July heat smothering out a clear night.
The few stars that are visible feel near enough to touch. Bright, perfect round lights in the sky, holes in the giant quilt blanlet that’s been kicked up and evened out, then laid gently over the prairies. In the dark fields behind the houses, the coyotes with high-pointed ears and sideways tongues creep into the backyards of the housing developments that have cropped up in the corn fields. I’ve seen them myself, caught them in the high beams of my car out ruinning errands at this hour, just after dusk. The deer come out in force then, too, but with the full moon departing last week and the stars awash in gray heat blankets, there is nothing to light the way tonight.
Whatever holds the wind back during the day has given way to frequent cool breezes that roll over the lawns, reshuffling flower petals – cooling bare skin. I have always wanted to know how to find the constellations and how they shift from season to season. The closest I came was a single night 15 or so years ago when a freind if mine and I set up a telescope in the street and attempted to match the big arching black sky to formatuons connected on a thin sheet of paper, the stars connected with then black lines lines a crossword puzzle that had been abandoned.
Of course, there was too much light then. We were so much closer to the city, too, maybe 10 miles, but we imagined to ourselves that we were not mere amateurs but accomplished astroners who could see what they wanted in the sky simply because we were trying.
Nights turn over so quickly that there is hardly anytime to look up anymore. I still try to remeber as much as I can, and that fact alone I think separates me from the rest of the world. I like to catch the clouds now and then. And, when I forget, the stars are a reliable substitue. They come out every night, some clearer than others, just beyond the reach of the rooftops and eaves, never falling or turning dark by their own merit.
