Art Journal
December 1, 2009 at 13:01 
So many wishes, only one star
I've long been a skywatcher. Not an astronomer. Not an astrologer. Not a person who can discuss black holes and string theory or quantum physics or the origin of the universe. I am simply a Grrrl who tilts her chin up and takes her eyes off the ground.
I am a lover of clouds and clarity, gray skies and blue, sunrises and sunsets, a view framed by mountaintops or tree branches or the flat line of an endless horizon.
I came of age in a little known corner of the Shenandoah Valley, on a farm that lay deep in the shadows of Jump Mountain. Houses were few and far between. The nearest town had only 5,000 people and was 30-minutes away, a drive on winding mountain roads that followed the river and creeks that thread through my memory.
It was a dark place where night held court. The moon was majestic and magical, and the stars--oh the stars--they were so dense and sharp in that rich black sky. You could see into space without a telescope and dream big dreams.
Adulthood has taken me off the farm and into a series of suburbs, small towns, and cities. The power of the night sky is diluted by the lights of thousands of people who are afraid of the dark, separated from nature, who mark time in digital minutes and not the phases of the moon.
I try to think big. I will sometimes drag a pillow and sleeping bag out on my deck and sleep directly under the sky so I don't forget who I am and where I am from. When the professional skywatchers predict meteor showers, I'm willing to sacrifice sleep, rise from my bed after midnight, and take my chances.
In 2001, the Leonids produced the most amazing star shower of my life, a display that exceeded the power of any special effect created for a Hollywood movie. That November, we were enroute to Florida for Thanksgiving and staying at Holiday Inn somewhere in South Carolina. We set our alarm and rose before 3 a.m., bundled up our two young children, and drove as far into the unfamiliar South Carolina backcountry as we dared. Perched on the hood of the car in the wee hours, I watched the sky come to life, blazing with wonder and light. It felt like a series of miracles, like we were being anointed.
Last month, scientists were again predicting a dazzling performance from the Leonids, and so I rolled out of bed by myself at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday, pulled my heaviest coat on over my pajamas, put on wool socks and boots, and dragged a New Zealand sheepskin and pillow outside to lie on. My neighbors' porch lights and the city lights in the distance dimmed my view, but I was content just to feel the cold air on my face and listen to the wind moving through the trees and distant train whistles. After awhile, my mind and spirit went roaming to find those I love and can't be with, and as memories stirred my heart, I struggled to keep my eyes open. About the time my joints were stiffening in the cold and I was prepared to go inside, a single shooting star flamed across the dome of the sky and reminded me to keep wishing, to keep dreaming, to keep loving, to never, ever give up.
"So many wishes, but only one star."
Reader Comments (10)
Did you hear about the BIG one that exploded over Salt Lake a few weeks ago--I mean, REALLY exploded, into 3 pieces, at 12:07--and I was asleep. Missed it! :( They said it lit. everything up brighter than mid-day. But I usually go out and stare up, and feel lucky if I see one. We took our dil out to the shores of the Great Salt Lake, where it was dark (and smelly), but saw nothing....
And Shirl Grrrl, I once wrote a poem about Christmas Eve and the drive along the river after midnight. I'll see if I can find it for you.
K and I went to midnight services together one year and he ran out of gas on Rt. 39 in the middle of the night. We had to walk looking for a house with lights on. You know that house tucked behind the trees, down low, on the curve at Wolf Hollow? We showed up there and bummed some gas. The guy looked at K and said, "So, are you going to cross my palms with silver?" K laughed because he thought it was some kind of Christmas joke, but the guy wasn't joking, he wanted to be paid for the gas. I didn't get home until after 4 a.m. and would have been in big trouble if Wayne C. (or was it Steve B.?) hadn't been with us the whole time.
"I am simply a Grrrl who tilts her chin up and takes her eyes off the ground." - me too. :)
And it reminded me of a night when I was 16 and visiting my cousins in San Antonio. We heard that there'd be a meteor show that night. So - we woke up in the middle of the night and stared up at the stars from the roof of the car. The sky was huge. I'd never before - or since - seen so many silver streaks shooting past. It was thrilling.