The Stars are Brilliant Tonight

I open the blinds on the window by the bed. Without my glasses, I can't see the stars, but I know that they are there, shining brightly, many more than we could see in town.

Our galaxy, or part of another galaxy? Stars, planets, other worlds like ours?

Restless, I quietly slip out of bed and go outside. I remember as a child laying on the ground beside my father as he pointed out the stars and the constellations. Later, as an adult, a girlfriend and I would do that also, discussing life and the people important to us. Situations and decisions seemed crystal clear when considered under the heavenly canopy.

I find a spot away from trees, where I can have a good view of the sky. It has cooled a little from the record heat of the day, but the ground is still very warm. The grass is dry from the relentless heat and the lack of rain. It prickles my back and legs. It is still hot enough, and with a good breeze, that the mosquitoes are leaving me alone.

Looking up, I find the Big and Little Dippers, and the North Star, so comforting in their continuity. I never could pick out the constellations. What would be prominent in August? Virgo? Libra? Orion? The stars seem brighter than usual and I realize there is no moon yet to outshine them.

Inwardly shrugging, I give up trying to remember the constellations and just enjoy the sky. A plane flies over, landing lights on, heading to the Wichita airport. When I was a child, the sky seemed full of airliners. Now, that is the only one I see.

I spot a movement in the sky, though. It is on a straight north to south trajectory. I watch it for a bit, knowing that it is a satellite moving above the atmosphere, recording data and communicating with the mortals down below. I remember Dad pointing one out to me. He said the American satellites went north to south, and the Soviet ones went east to west, or vice-versa. I smile at that memory now, and acknowledge how the long Cold War had affected thinking and reasoning.

Distantly, coyotes call back and forth and the sound brings me back to reality. The critters of the night should be out scavenging -- skunks, opossums, raccoons, bobcats. I hear the soft "hoot-hoot" of the barn owl and the distinct cry of the screech owl. The owl calls are soothing, but thinking of the other wildlife, I reluctantly leave my grassy bed and head into the house.

Later this month, I will make sure to do this again, to watch the "shooting stars" that occur every August. Perseid's, is that it? Mentally, I again kick myself for choosing chemistry rather than astronomy as my science elective in college all those years ago.

My husband is snoring softly as I quietly lay back in the bed. I turn and face the window and drift off to sleep with a gentle smile knowing the stars are brilliant tonight, but I can't see them without my glasses.