Waiting on the 5:02
--
September 19, 2006
Summer officially ended in this desert town a few days ago and not a moment too soon. The monsoons stopped, the clouds went away and the overnight temperature descended into the brisk high 60's, rather than the high 90's.
It was finally time to enjoy the night sky without the fear of keeling over from heat exhaustion. The evening news had promised a cool morning and a new moon promised a sky full of stars, so I set the alarm for 4:00 AM and an early morning show of the night sky.
At the designated time of too early, I fumbled my way to the kitchen for a cup of wake-up coffee. I took the long way to the kitchen, going from room to room, turning off night-lights in order to preserve my night sight. (gee, that rhymes.) I made coffee under the dimmed, low lumens of the oven range light and rubbed my knees where I hit the same table - twice. There was a reason for leaving those night-lights *on*.
With bittersweet nectar in hand, I opened the back door and walked into the welcoming shadows of a moonless night. It was quiet and pleasantly dark. It felt good to be out here again. I had been waiting for this change in the weather for the past two months and thought it would never get here. Now it had and my backyard never felt so good. I sipped my coffee, closed my eyes and took in the crickets and the cool air as summer slowly slipped away from me.
A slight breeze reminded me that it was colder than what I expected. I should have gone inside for proper clothes, but I made do by drinking coffee and rubbing the warm empty cup across my chest. A few small meteorites flashed across the sky before I decided to step inside for a quick refill.
On returning, I was rewarded with a large meteorite cutting the sky from northeast to southwest. It left a thin trail of white smoke on a dark sky that quickly vanished into the upper atmosphere. It appeared and disappeared in under a second. The show had begun.
I quickly arranged my front row seat by placing the Adirondack chair and two end tables towards the southern sky. Beach towels softened the chair and the one table I would use as a footrest. The other table held my morning jubilation (Sit here, my Precious). I marked the time and began searching the sky for low earth orbit satellites.
An internet site had provided me with the orbit times of the LEOs and their varying degrees of brightness (reflected light from the sun). One of the artificial stars would appear at 5:02 AM. It was promised to be the brightest one of the morning.
There it was. Right on time. From a hundred miles up, it moved from northwest to southeast, glowing brighter as it caught more of the rising sun on its metallic skin. It glowed like a tiny light bulb for a few seconds, and then grew dim as it disappeared into the southeast horizon. In less than twenty seconds, it had covered half the sky.
I watched more celestial bodies race across the darkness, but they were becoming harder to see as the black sky turned dark blue. The morning show was ending. The sun was rising to the East and the night was letting go of its sky. It was time to get ready for work.
I didn't want it to end, so I lollygagged a bit and was rewarded with a special gift. By chance, I looked directly overhead and saw a satellite cross from north to south. The sun caught the satellite just right and it reflected back to earth, back to the area where I was watching, just between night and day.
The sun glinted off the satellite as though it were a mirror set a quarter mile away. It was bright gold for the briefest of moments, then turned white and disappeared into the horizon.
I smiled at this sudden gift from the heavens.
Amongst all the twinkling stars, one from this planet winked back at me.
--
September 19, 2006
Summer officially ended in this desert town a few days ago and not a moment too soon. The monsoons stopped, the clouds went away and the overnight temperature descended into the brisk high 60's, rather than the high 90's.
It was finally time to enjoy the night sky without the fear of keeling over from heat exhaustion. The evening news had promised a cool morning and a new moon promised a sky full of stars, so I set the alarm for 4:00 AM and an early morning show of the night sky.
At the designated time of too early, I fumbled my way to the kitchen for a cup of wake-up coffee. I took the long way to the kitchen, going from room to room, turning off night-lights in order to preserve my night sight. (gee, that rhymes.) I made coffee under the dimmed, low lumens of the oven range light and rubbed my knees where I hit the same table - twice. There was a reason for leaving those night-lights *on*.
With bittersweet nectar in hand, I opened the back door and walked into the welcoming shadows of a moonless night. It was quiet and pleasantly dark. It felt good to be out here again. I had been waiting for this change in the weather for the past two months and thought it would never get here. Now it had and my backyard never felt so good. I sipped my coffee, closed my eyes and took in the crickets and the cool air as summer slowly slipped away from me.
A slight breeze reminded me that it was colder than what I expected. I should have gone inside for proper clothes, but I made do by drinking coffee and rubbing the warm empty cup across my chest. A few small meteorites flashed across the sky before I decided to step inside for a quick refill.
On returning, I was rewarded with a large meteorite cutting the sky from northeast to southwest. It left a thin trail of white smoke on a dark sky that quickly vanished into the upper atmosphere. It appeared and disappeared in under a second. The show had begun.
I quickly arranged my front row seat by placing the Adirondack chair and two end tables towards the southern sky. Beach towels softened the chair and the one table I would use as a footrest. The other table held my morning jubilation (Sit here, my Precious). I marked the time and began searching the sky for low earth orbit satellites.
An internet site had provided me with the orbit times of the LEOs and their varying degrees of brightness (reflected light from the sun). One of the artificial stars would appear at 5:02 AM. It was promised to be the brightest one of the morning.
There it was. Right on time. From a hundred miles up, it moved from northwest to southeast, glowing brighter as it caught more of the rising sun on its metallic skin. It glowed like a tiny light bulb for a few seconds, and then grew dim as it disappeared into the southeast horizon. In less than twenty seconds, it had covered half the sky.
I watched more celestial bodies race across the darkness, but they were becoming harder to see as the black sky turned dark blue. The morning show was ending. The sun was rising to the East and the night was letting go of its sky. It was time to get ready for work.
I didn't want it to end, so I lollygagged a bit and was rewarded with a special gift. By chance, I looked directly overhead and saw a satellite cross from north to south. The sun caught the satellite just right and it reflected back to earth, back to the area where I was watching, just between night and day.
The sun glinted off the satellite as though it were a mirror set a quarter mile away. It was bright gold for the briefest of moments, then turned white and disappeared into the horizon.
I smiled at this sudden gift from the heavens.
Amongst all the twinkling stars, one from this planet winked back at me.
--
posted by Mike Chandler | 7:26 PM
1 Comments:
This warmth and perceiving style of telling is enjoyable to observe. I'm growing to be more than an accidental visitor to your blog. Thank you for writing!
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