tiny pinpoints of light could actually illuminate anything, but I was mistaken. On a field of snow in the darkness before dawn, the stars make it bright enough to see the entire world around you. I find myself drifting along behind my dog on the way out to the barn where her kennel is, eyes to the heavens over head and completely enthralled with the constellations.
There are always constellations to be found, but most of the clearly recognizable ones are in the winter - Orion, Taurus, Pleiades, Canis Major and Minor hunting with Orion, Perseus. The winter skies are so crisp and clear that there are times it feels as though the stars are within reach instead of millions of miles away. When I was a kid, I used to wait until it was pitch dark outside to go out and do chores and then, while the horses where busy munching hay, I would flop down in a snow bank and simply stare upwards at the expanse of the universe above. This would always come to an abrupt halt however when my mom would flick on the yard light and yell out into the yard, "Jen! Are you alright out there!" She was forever convinced that I was nightly trampled by the horses, so I would answer her that I was fine, (other than being totally blinded by the yard light suddenly coming on and shocking my dark adapted eyes) and stumble my way back into the house.
I, at one time, thought that I would like to do astronomy, but then realized that the mystery and magic of the skies was more to my liking and I preferred to look at it always with a sense of wonder rather than know too much about the whys and wherefores of their movements. I enjoy knowing the constellations and the stories behind them - Orion, the hunter sits on the opposite side of the universe from Scorpio (my zodiac sign) because Scorpio bit him. Cassiopeia sits upside down for half of the year due to her vanity. Watching the zodiac constellations march across the heavens during the course of the year also gives me a feeling of connection to people from the past that used only the skies to maintain a sense of time and direction.
This morning as I stood peering up into the skies I noted Venus which appears as the morning star at this time. Right nowaccording to the almanac, it is at its brightest that it has been for a while with a magnitude of -4.7. Not that this means too much to me. For me it is so bright that it almost looks like an incoming plane until you realize that it isn't blinking nor is it moving. Suspended in the sky, a planet not unlike the one that I stand on, yet so far away as to only appear as a brightly lit dot in the sky. Thoughts of the magnitude of space make me feel like a mere dust mote in the sunbeam of the universe. How small, how inconsequential am I in this time and space that I occupy. The thought is both alarming and soothing all at the same time. It helps to put into perspective the problems of the week, the animals that I haven't been able to cure, the people that I know that are in a state of distress, the seemingly endless number of questions with no answers. I look to the dark, star filled sky and it simply swallows all those concerns and more.
I am not a very religious person. This is perhaps an understatement, but I do believe that there is something that binds us all together - each atom, each grain of sand, each leaf on every tree, each person, each planet and star. I stare up at the starry sky and feel connected in some small way to that infinity above me. I have never felt quite the same sense of profound awe in any cathedral, no matter how magnificent the masterpieces painted on the ceiling, and no wording in any religious text has been able to give me as much peace as the message of the quiet, constant light of a midwinter sky.
So, this morning, as I walked back toward the dark, warm confines of the house, I paused and breathed in the crisp, star-filled air and let the peace and quiet fill my soul and felt the gentle roll of the earth through infinite space as measured by the stars.
Four Mapels
Sunday, January 16, 2011
The Darkness Before Dawn
I get up at 5:25 am on Sundays so I can sleep in. I know that doesn't make any sense, but bear with me a minute, there is a method to this madness.
We have a very large, very fluffy dog named Gina that lives outside to keep the riffraff away from the farm. She is a wonderful dog and very good at her job, but we also live across the road from a large dog boarding facility and it takes a strong dog indeed that doesn't want to run across the road and see her other friends playing and barking.....Gina is not quite such a strong dog sometimes. So, to avoid the inevitable phone call that will come at 7 am, telling me that there is a large fluffy dog of mine across the road, I get up at 5:25 to put her in her kennel.
I do it so early because if I wait until 6:30 am then I stand a chance of inadvertently waking a kid up in the house and, when one is awake it doesn't take long before five are awake. There is no sleeping in when there are five kids running around. But if I can sneak out of the house and back in again really early I have an outside chance of not waking anyone up and actually getting back to sleep myself. I know....how very devious of me.
The biggest problem with getting up at 5:25 am and going outside on a January day is that the cold does an extremely good job of thoroughly waking you up. But, if I am fast enough and don't have to track my fluffy dog down, I can get back inside a warm house and curl up next to a warm husband and drift luxuriously back into sleep. There are some mornings, however, when I don't want to.
Not sure how many of you have been outside a few hours before dawn in the middle of winter but there is something amazing to see.....the stars! I used to think that "starlight" was really just a figure of speech and that there really wasn't any way that those
tiny pinpoints of light could actually illuminate anything, but I was mistaken. On a field of snow in the darkness before dawn, the stars make it bright enough to see the entire world around you. I find myself drifting along behind my dog on the way out to the barn where her kennel is, eyes to the heavens over head and completely enthralled with the constellations.
There are always constellations to be found, but most of the clearly recognizable ones are in the winter - Orion, Taurus, Pleiades, Canis Major and Minor hunting with Orion, Perseus. The winter skies are so crisp and clear that there are times it feels as though the stars are within reach instead of millions of miles away. When I was a kid, I used to wait until it was pitch dark outside to go out and do chores and then, while the horses where busy munching hay, I would flop down in a snow bank and simply stare upwards at the expanse of the universe above. This would always come to an abrupt halt however when my mom would flick on the yard light and yell out into the yard, "Jen! Are you alright out there!" She was forever convinced that I was nightly trampled by the horses, so I would answer her that I was fine, (other than being totally blinded by the yard light suddenly coming on and shocking my dark adapted eyes) and stumble my way back into the house.
I, at one time, thought that I would like to do astronomy, but then realized that the mystery and magic of the skies was more to my liking and I preferred to look at it always with a sense of wonder rather than know too much about the whys and wherefores of their movements. I enjoy knowing the constellations and the stories behind them - Orion, the hunter sits on the opposite side of the universe from Scorpio (my zodiac sign) because Scorpio bit him. Cassiopeia sits upside down for half of the year due to her vanity. Watching the zodiac constellations march across the heavens during the course of the year also gives me a feeling of connection to people from the past that used only the skies to maintain a sense of time and direction.
This morning as I stood peering up into the skies I noted Venus which appears as the morning star at this time. Right nowaccording to the almanac, it is at its brightest that it has been for a while with a magnitude of -4.7. Not that this means too much to me. For me it is so bright that it almost looks like an incoming plane until you realize that it isn't blinking nor is it moving. Suspended in the sky, a planet not unlike the one that I stand on, yet so far away as to only appear as a brightly lit dot in the sky. Thoughts of the magnitude of space make me feel like a mere dust mote in the sunbeam of the universe. How small, how inconsequential am I in this time and space that I occupy. The thought is both alarming and soothing all at the same time. It helps to put into perspective the problems of the week, the animals that I haven't been able to cure, the people that I know that are in a state of distress, the seemingly endless number of questions with no answers. I look to the dark, star filled sky and it simply swallows all those concerns and more.
I am not a very religious person. This is perhaps an understatement, but I do believe that there is something that binds us all together - each atom, each grain of sand, each leaf on every tree, each person, each planet and star. I stare up at the starry sky and feel connected in some small way to that infinity above me. I have never felt quite the same sense of profound awe in any cathedral, no matter how magnificent the masterpieces painted on the ceiling, and no wording in any religious text has been able to give me as much peace as the message of the quiet, constant light of a midwinter sky.
So, this morning, as I walked back toward the dark, warm confines of the house, I paused and breathed in the crisp, star-filled air and let the peace and quiet fill my soul and felt the gentle roll of the earth through infinite space as measured by the stars.
tiny pinpoints of light could actually illuminate anything, but I was mistaken. On a field of snow in the darkness before dawn, the stars make it bright enough to see the entire world around you. I find myself drifting along behind my dog on the way out to the barn where her kennel is, eyes to the heavens over head and completely enthralled with the constellations.
There are always constellations to be found, but most of the clearly recognizable ones are in the winter - Orion, Taurus, Pleiades, Canis Major and Minor hunting with Orion, Perseus. The winter skies are so crisp and clear that there are times it feels as though the stars are within reach instead of millions of miles away. When I was a kid, I used to wait until it was pitch dark outside to go out and do chores and then, while the horses where busy munching hay, I would flop down in a snow bank and simply stare upwards at the expanse of the universe above. This would always come to an abrupt halt however when my mom would flick on the yard light and yell out into the yard, "Jen! Are you alright out there!" She was forever convinced that I was nightly trampled by the horses, so I would answer her that I was fine, (other than being totally blinded by the yard light suddenly coming on and shocking my dark adapted eyes) and stumble my way back into the house.
I, at one time, thought that I would like to do astronomy, but then realized that the mystery and magic of the skies was more to my liking and I preferred to look at it always with a sense of wonder rather than know too much about the whys and wherefores of their movements. I enjoy knowing the constellations and the stories behind them - Orion, the hunter sits on the opposite side of the universe from Scorpio (my zodiac sign) because Scorpio bit him. Cassiopeia sits upside down for half of the year due to her vanity. Watching the zodiac constellations march across the heavens during the course of the year also gives me a feeling of connection to people from the past that used only the skies to maintain a sense of time and direction.
This morning as I stood peering up into the skies I noted Venus which appears as the morning star at this time. Right nowaccording to the almanac, it is at its brightest that it has been for a while with a magnitude of -4.7. Not that this means too much to me. For me it is so bright that it almost looks like an incoming plane until you realize that it isn't blinking nor is it moving. Suspended in the sky, a planet not unlike the one that I stand on, yet so far away as to only appear as a brightly lit dot in the sky. Thoughts of the magnitude of space make me feel like a mere dust mote in the sunbeam of the universe. How small, how inconsequential am I in this time and space that I occupy. The thought is both alarming and soothing all at the same time. It helps to put into perspective the problems of the week, the animals that I haven't been able to cure, the people that I know that are in a state of distress, the seemingly endless number of questions with no answers. I look to the dark, star filled sky and it simply swallows all those concerns and more.
I am not a very religious person. This is perhaps an understatement, but I do believe that there is something that binds us all together - each atom, each grain of sand, each leaf on every tree, each person, each planet and star. I stare up at the starry sky and feel connected in some small way to that infinity above me. I have never felt quite the same sense of profound awe in any cathedral, no matter how magnificent the masterpieces painted on the ceiling, and no wording in any religious text has been able to give me as much peace as the message of the quiet, constant light of a midwinter sky.
So, this morning, as I walked back toward the dark, warm confines of the house, I paused and breathed in the crisp, star-filled air and let the peace and quiet fill my soul and felt the gentle roll of the earth through infinite space as measured by the stars.
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EXACTLY! I dash out to grab the morning paper at 4:55 each morning in my jammies moving as fast as my feet in Allan's slip-on shoes (that sit so conveniently by the basement door) and the amount of ice/snow on our driveway allows. The slap of the bitter cold encourages me to get out and back in record time. However, this week offered me another one of those mornings you just described where the sky is a breathtaking masterpiece of stars and you just have to stand still, look up, and drink it in for awhile. I absolutely loved it and carried the memory with me all day!
ReplyDeleteAmen, sister friend! Well put. We sit and spin within the infinite.
ReplyDeletePsalm 8 -- also, I remember Mr. Schleich's astronomy unit in Physics and feeling so down-hearted because the glory of the heavens was being boiled down to facts and figures. I know he truly did love the heavenlies and perhaps I was the one who "missed the point".
ReplyDelete